Once I Dreamed of Dragons
by Lady Maisry
Summary: Teneira Tabris has spent her life clawing her way to the top of the pecking order in Denerim's alienage. After sacrificing her life there to keep her people safe, she finds herself at the bottom of another ladder. Rated M for things both fun and dark.
1. The Arlessa of the Alienage

The outside of the building was ramshackle to say the least. The first floor seemed to be built over a small moving river that flowed downhill through Denerim's alienage. As it crept into the market district, it would be diverted underground with pipes, but the Arl had never quite gotten around to transforming what eventually became an open sewer in the city's poorest quarter. The first floor being soggy, the owner had built a ramp so that people visiting it could go directly to the second floor, which while perhaps dryer, was no better built. Eddin Rasphander smirked and looked at his subordinates. There were but four men assigned to the alienage at any given time, and he had been put in charge of them a mere week beforehand.

"I don't see what's going to be so hard about keeping these savages from killing each other," he said, "Though if you ask me, you just let them at each other. Keep the population down, so to speak."

Two of his subordinates gave each other a meaningful look. "You'd best be keeping that opinion to yourself in front of the arlessa," Kennit, an older man who had been assigned to the alienage for most of his career, but had always refused a promotion to the captain of the squad.

"And have I mentioned how ridiculous it is that she calls herself an arlessa?" Eddin replied, "I'll address her by her first name like the lowlife she is."

"She doesn't call herself that," Kennit said, "I call her that. It's what she is. Listen, Rasphander, I know you're wanting to handle this in the way you're accustomed to handling it, but it ain't the same as ordering around the servants in your household. These elves are citizens of Denerim, same as you and me."

"They live here because we allow them to live here," Eddin admonished his subordinate, "Things have been going wild in this godsforsaken neighborhood precisely because of attitudes like yours. They aren't like us, Kennit, they're not civilized. They have to be reminded that we have laws for a reason. Without us, they would be tattooing their faces and romping through the forest like the Dalish, wiping their arses on pinecones."

Kennit was silent, but an expression flitted across his face. Was it a smirk? Eddin was suspicious of the old man to say the least. A guardsman all his life, never wanting a promotion? There must be a reason for it. He feared this Arlessa of the Alienage, that much was clear. A silly man, to fear some uppity knife-eared bitch, putting on airs far above her station. The other two guards were no better. One, Jocry, was a bit younger than Eddin, but had been patrolling the Alienage for some time. The other, Makis, was nearly up for retirement. Hardly a fearsome bunch, he thought, these elves must be placid indeed. Probably all the drink.

"The fact that I'm even deigning to meet with her shows remarkably bad judgment on my part," Eddin grumbled, "I should just ignore her and go about doing my job, like a real guardsman, not kowtowing to some wench."

"I can't tell you any more than I've told you," Kennit said, "But I've been walking this beat for fifteen years. We are fairly tangential to whether there is peace or war in the alienage. They never patrolled this area are until fifteen years ago, and for some reason the place didn't burn to the ground before that."

"No thanks to its inhabitants, I'm sure," Eddin said, "We were likely doing them a favor. At least when we owned them we could look over their shoulders every so often and make sure everything was on the up and up. Now we let them loose in a neighborhood and look how they treat it." He poked at the roof of the building with the point of his halberd and the thing started shedding shingles like a Mabari sheds his winter coat come springtime. "Then again I suppose it's good we don't invite them into our homes so they can burn us in our beds."

Edding reached down and opened the door without bothering to knock, and caught his breath at what was inside. While outside the buildings were in poor condition, nearly falling down, this room was fairly decorated. A roaring fire blazed in the large fireplace at the end of the room, and the walls were hung with huge portraits. At first he thought that it must be stolen art that some servant had pilfered from her master, but on closer inspection, the portraits were all of elves. _What a waste of a skilled hand, _he thought, admiring the paintings, _why, this artist could have painted kings! Great battle scenes! And here he was, memorializing a bunch of slaves. What a shame._

"I see you admiring the work of Anorin Valstrig," a voice came from behind.

Eddin whirled. Standing there, wearing a simple but well made gown of green silk, stood an elfin woman. She had odd coloring, as many elves and few humans did. Her hair was a glossy light brown, as were her eyes. Indeed, as was all of her. Her callused hands indicated that she toiled outside by day, and the sun had lightened her hair and darkened her skin until she looked as though she were a statue all carved out of a single block of wood. Eddin had never found delicate elfin women attractive, preferring humans and the occasional dwarf, with broad hips, but he found something otherworldly about the girl, and he found it difficult to take his eyes off of her.

"He painted arls and teyrns, and even the old King Maric Theirin once," she said, "Not many knew him to be an elf, but he was, from this very alienage. When he wasn't working, he would paint his fellow residents. See, my mother there."

She lifted one long finger to indicate a portrait of a woman younger than she, with black hair and green eyes. The name'Adaia' was carved into the frame of the picture.

"We keep his paintings here for his memory," she said.

"What happened to him?" Eddin asked, curious despite himself.

"He fell in love with a woman," she said, "A servant in the house of the arl. She loved him as well."

"And?"

"She was human," the elfin woman said, "He was caught letting his eyes linger on her for a moment more than was seemly. They accused him of rape, and a lynch mob hung him from the _vehnadahl,_ the great tree that grows outside this very building. His body was left there for weeks, and the arl forbid us to cut him down. His mother had to walk by every morning and see the crows peck at her son's distended body."

"Well, with all due respect, miss," Eddin said, "It's not as though a human woman could _consent_ to lie with an elf man. It just isn't natural. But I'm here for a reason, and it looks as though you're expecting me." The thought of it made him sick. He imagined, for a moment, how he would feel if his sister Calita told him she wanted to marry an elfin man. Everyone knew that elves bewitched young human girls and took advantage of their naivety. This Anoril Valstrig probably was a rapist, and deserved his fate. There was a reason things were the way things were.

She looked him up and down, then, as though sizing him up. He chuckled inwardly at this. The girl was half his size, if that.

"Yes," she said, "And yet to hear your kind talk, elf women are nothing _but _consent when it comes to human males and their lumbering advances." She spat out the word _male _as though she were talking about an animal, a hound or a rooster. She looked him up and down again, "You and your subordinates may have a seat at the table. I see from our limited interaction that you and I are not going to be friends, and so I must ask your leave to fetch some subordinates of my own."

Eddin walked over to the table and sat himself next to the head. His three guards hung back for a moment, but upon being ordered to do so, sat themselves. Their air of trepidation had grown into outright fear. He was beginning to feel a little nervous himself. The woman returned with several elves, one redheaded man that he recognized as working in the stables further upriver, a woman who had the cracked hands of a scullery maid, and another man who was well-muscled, but pale, which meant he probably worked in a warehouse. _These are her back-up? These malnourished laborers? What a farce this is._

She sat herself at the head of the table. Eddin realized at this moment that this woman was the fabled Arlessa of the Alienage. No wonder she had such a smart mouth. She was used to being among her own kind, day in and day out. Sort of like being the fastest pig in the world, he thought, very good when you're among other pigs, but not very effective when a horse showed up to the race. _She has a thoroughbred in the house now, _he thought, _and she'd best learn to check her attitude when it comes to us. _Her 'people' seated themselves along her right side, facing his guards.

"Hello, Kennit," the redheaded man said, "How's your wife doing?"

"Much better, thanks for asking, Soris," Kennit said, "She's gotten over the fever, and her leg is doing much better."

"Good to hear," the elf man said, smiling.

"I hear you're getting married soon!" Kennit said, "Congratulations, my boy."

At this the gingerhaired elf blushed red, and nodded, "Thank you," he said, though his tone of voice betrayed some doubt.

"My friends," the "arlessa" said, smiling, "We are here to greet and welcome the newest commander of the guards assigned to our little corner of Denerim. His name is Eddin Rasphander. Did you hear that clearly? Eddin Rasphander."

Her people were silent, but the elf woman seated across from Eddin smirked.

"Eddin Rasphander is thirty years old," Teneira said, "His wife's name is Maylin. He has two children, Eddin Junior, who is eight, and Andry, who is six. Maylin is pregnant again, but he doesn't know it yet. They live in a house by the Drakon River, just south of the Market District. It's unmistakable because of the blue shutters. Maylin had them painted several years ago, and she's dreadfully proud of them."

Eddin's jaw must have been on the floor, because Jocry elbowed him hard, reminding him to shut his mouth. He did so, and swallowed hard. _How in Andraste's name did she know about me? _He thought.

"So, Eddin," she said, "We know all about you. _All _about you. We know where your children go to school. We know that your wife often carelessly leaves the fire going after she goes to bed so that you have a warm house to come home to after an evening shift. Wouldn't it just be _so _terrible if a stray cinder were to set the curtains on fire? Or, if, god forbid, all the brandy you keep in the cupboard to take the sharp edges off of life, were to go up in flames? With your wife and children asleep upstairs?"

"You… are you threatening my _family_?" he gasped. _Savages, indeed! Even centuries under our tutelage and they are still but wild beings, devoid of any morals, laws! _He felt the hair prick up on the back of his neck.

"Me? Threaten?" she gasped, "Maker's breath, no. I am but a simple elf woman. I can't resist the charms of a big, handsome, human man like you." She smiled sweetly, and leaned forward towards him, so that their faces were mere inches apart, and her brown eyes bored into his blue ones like knives, "But I'm not done yet. I know more about you, Eddin Rasphander. I know that you're a bastard son of the arl himself. I know that your mother was a whore at the Pearl and you've only been appointed to this post because she threatened him with blackmail. I know that you're in quite a precarious position with the guardsmen because you were promoted over other, much more qualified candidates. And I know that any _disturbances _that occur in the alienage on your watch will reflect poorly on you. Very poorly indeed." She paused, and produced a pipe from her belt. Silently, she filled it, while the others in the room, elves and humans, watched her. She lit it from the candle burning on the table before her. She took a couple of puffs, and passed it to the blond woman to her right, who did the same.

"So now tell me, Eddin Rasphander," she said, "What do you know about me?"

He sat there, dumbstruck, realizing that he did not even know her name.

"That's what I thought," she said, "Well, I will tell you this much. My name is Teneira Tabris, and while perhaps you are the one on the arl's payroll, I am the one who keeps peace in this district. When a group of drunken humans comes here to terrorize the elf women, it's not the guards that send them back where they came from. When there is trouble brewing and a riot is imminent, the arl can send whomever he wants to try to quell it, but I am the one who has the power to stop it. When the domestic labor threatens a strike and boycott, it happens or does not happen because _I _say so. Your dishes get washed and your laundry gets done because _I _allow the maids and servants to go to work. I keep the elvish moonshine in the casks at the Gnawed Noble. I make sure the elfin whores at the Pearl get safely to and from their work. Have you ever wondered why there is no bandit activity in the Alienage?"

"Because there's nothing here worth stealing," Eddin asked.

"Oh, you dear silly man. You haven't gotten the point yet."

In a flash, the little woman had drawn steel and he felt the sharp and very uncomfortable blade of her dagger at his throat.

"If peace or war occurs here, it will have nothing to do with you," Teneira said, "The arl may rule Denerim, but we rule the Alienage." She pushed the dagger a little, so that it just nicked his skin, "I wouldn't let the sun set on you in this part of town, human."

Eddin pushed back from the table and scrambled to his feet, not needing to be told twice, "You uppity, knife-eared bitch," he growled, "This has gone quite far enough. You'd do well to be taught who your superiors are."

"That's a bad move, Eddin," Jocry sighed, but made no move to stop him. Eddin's halberd was out by this time, and he backed himself into a corner, brandishing it out in front of him so that none could get too close.

"What a disappointment," Teneira sighed, "And I thought perhaps we might be able to get along so famously. Very well, Eddin Rasphander. You may go. Don't get too comfortable as a sergeant, though, for I assure you, your command of this squad is quite temporary."

"I will do no such thing!" he spat, "I only suspected before, but now I _know _that this quarter is populated by nothing but thugs and brigands. Your kind only respects one kind of power, and believe you me, I know how to wield it."

"Very well, then," Teneira said, "I'm sorry you feel that way. If this is the kind of power we understand, it is because it is the kind of power that has been used on us for the last…"

"And I am so _sick _of hearing that excuse from your kind!" Eddin shouted, "Your time as slaves ended generations ago. Who's fault is it that you can't rise out of your own smutty little alienages? It's because you're all lazy criminals. We should have kept you on as property, it's about all you're good for."

To his amazement, the elves at the table all began to laugh, little tinkling laughs at first, and growing into loud guffaws.

"Oh, Eddin Rasphander," Teneira said, "You are so very quaint. Very well, go on your way, I don't suppose we'll be meeting again. Take your men with you, though I have to give them my sympathy and I hope dearly that their next commander is somewhat more reasonable."

Eddin didn't need to be told twice. He turned and all but ran out of the house, scrambling down the ramp outside, muddying his boots as he forgot where the open sewer ran. His men followed him.

"That was a mistake, Eddie," Makis said, shaking his head. The other guards nodded their agreement.

"You are all terrible backup," he said, gasping and redfaced with rage, "I think you've also forgotten who your superiors are just as much as she has. I am alerting my brother of this little encounter on the morrow. If you think he'll be as forgiving as I am for this type of outrage, then you are sorely mistaken. You are all relieved of your posts, starting immediately."

The guards looked at each other. Kennit and Makis had been patrolling the Alienage for fifteen years, Jocry for five. There had always been an elf they dealt with, sometimes a crime boss, sometimes an elected official, to keep peace in the District. For the year that Teneira had been filling the post, the Alienage had been peaceful. She kept the peace, and in return the guards conveniently botched the investigation when she suggested that a human turned up dead in the river had deserved it for one reason or another. Her predecessor, Leona, had not been nearly so reasonable – the Alienage under her leadership had rioted at the drop of a pin, doing more damage to themselves than to Denerim as a whole, but enough damage to put a dent in the number of available domestic servants. If this bastard son of the arl were going to take true control of the Alienage in his own hamhanded fashion, they would have to brace themselves for an all-out war.

"Nothing to be done about it, may as well go home," Kennit said, but he might as well have said "Get out if here for Maker's sake, before everything goes to blazes!"given how fast the guards scattered back to their homes.

Eddin Rasphander fingered the small cut on his neck and vowed revenge on the "arlessa." She probably thought she knew everything. She was not banking on a few cards he had in his deck. She would pay dearly for her arrogance, he thought, dearly indeed.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, inside, Teneira had gone from relaxed and flippant to a ball of nervous energy. She snatched the pipe from where it had wound up at the end of the table, and smoked furiously. She was young for one in her position. Though she did not know her precise date of birth, she imagined she was probably twenty-two or three. She remembered twenty winters, though she was not sure how old she was when she had started to remember things, so that was not terribly helpful. Still, she spoke with the easy grace of a diplomat, or the cunning , cutting tone of a crime boss, convincingly enough that most of the guards would be happy to play ball. Eddin Rasphander, though, he seemed to have an agenda already set out before he came to the table.<p>

"He was serious," she said, "I think I overplayed my hand something awful."

"Nonsense," Shianni, her right hand woman said, "He's not going to try anything. If anything, he overplayed his hand. He's a bastard, after all, it's not like he has any real power."

"Still," Soris sighed, "Ten has a point. We're all going to have to watch our backs until Eddin's replaced." He sighed, "It's not your fault, though, cousin. You did well. Would have made me soil my pants if you were talking to me."

Teneira laughed, "And how long do you suppose, until they figure out that my bark is embarrassingly bigger than my bite?"

"There's only one way to do that," Shianni said, "Get a bigger bite."

The arlessa of the Alienage chuckled, "And how am I supposed to do that as a married woman? Poor lad from Highever doesn't even know who it is he's tangling with. I read the letter Father sent trying to find me a husband. He said that I liked gardening and embroidery."

"You _do _like gardening and embroidery, it's not like it was a lie," Shianni said, "Uncle left off the part about your uncanny ability with a dagger and penchant for threatening authority figures, just as I'm sure your father in law to be left off the part where his son has a wall-eye and prefers the company of young boys!"

Soris and Teneira laughed, but their laughter was hollow. Both had future mates being brought in the next week, the product of several months of negotiations between their family and a clan from the alienage of Highever. Alienages were small. Without arranging marriages between them, the only new blood would come when an elf woman raped by a human brought the pregnancy to term, something which rarely happened, thanks to Teneira's love of gardening and talent with brewing potions. She had seen the effects of inbreeding on families too poor to make good matches. Mismatched facial features, blindness, children born with too many fingers – or too few. While she recognized the need for a husband from far outside Denerim, this did little to ease her nervousness about the prospect. She was a good match, she knew that, in her prime, the owner of a successful alchemist's stall._ Healing potions and good magicks, _she said, _my husband__ doesn't need to know about the _other _things. _

"As for your..." Shianni paused, looking for the right word, "Your _role _in the Alienage, just wait until the marriage is legal and unbreakable. And then, the morning after your wedding you roll over and say 'Oh, by the way, dear, there may or may not be a sergeant of the Guard who would like nothing better than to take my ears for a trophy! Hope you're not dreadfully put out with me!'"

Teneira sighed, "I suppose we should be getting on home then. I'll think on how to deal with Rasphander. We can deal with him after the wedding."

"I'll enjoy it, that snooty bastard," Shianni smirked.

The three of them left the meeting room and walked the few blocks home. As always, her father asked no questions of his daughter or his niece, just as he had asked no questions of his wife. Teneira curled up in her bunk and pulled the covers to her nose.

That night, for the first time of what would be many, she dreamed of dragons.


	2. The Upper Hand

The very next day, as Teneira was minding her stall, the new sergeant came to see her. She had never seen him before and did not know who he was. This was an odd and alarming feeling for her. Being neither strong nor particularly swift, she based her power on knowledge alone. When a very young guard, even younger than Eddin Rasphander, came to her stall, it made her very nervous indeed. Of course, showing this would be a mistake of the highest order. She sized him up while trying to keep her eyes on the ground.

"Can I interest you in a poultice, sir?" she asked, lowering her eyes as most elves did when a human walked by. Right now, she was just Ten the Alchemist, who signed her bottles with the numeral "10" and always had what you were looking for, no matter how unsavory its purpose, "Life of a guard must be dangerous, I'm sure you could use one."

"I'll have none of your poultices, love," he said, "I'd take a kiss from that sweet mouth, though." She looked him in the face when he said this. He grinned boldly, his teeth very white against his tanned skin. Had he been just a bit uglier, he probably would have gotten a fist across the face every time he tried that line on a human woman. Elfin women, of course, knew better than to strike a human in public, though Ten imagined a dozen ways that she could make life very, very hard for him if she so chose.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. He had high cheekbones and a narrow chin. She squinted into his face, conscious of something a little odd about him, not _off_ exactly, but he certainly wasn't like the others… could it be…?

He smirked at her and absently tucked his hair behind one, small but unmistakably pointed, ear. "I'm Sergeant Airon Villais. The lieutenant sends his regards," he said, winking, "Peace in the alienage is, after all, of such importance to Denerim."

"Have you been passing long?" she asked.

"Passing!" Villais scoffed, apparently offended by the accusation, "Easy to do when you're born of a human woman. I was always a bit small for my age, but the ears didn't grow in like this until I was old enough to know I ought to hide them."

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of where his sympathies lay. Half-breeds born of elfin women were welcomed, if begrudgingly, into the fold of the alienage. But when a half-elf was born of a human woman, too often she was hasty to blame the parentage of the child on rape, resulting in the hasty execution of whatever elfin manservant had had access to her bedchamber, without regard for whether the encounter had been nonconsensual or if the man with his head on the block was actually the culprit. The children were often sent off to the Chantry, where they were never told of their parentage and left always feeling a bit confused. That this young man was not a pariah, that he was a city guard no less, roused suspicion in her gut.

"Perhaps you'd best come inside for some tea, Master Villais," Teneira said, "I'll call Shianni to tend the shop."

"Inviting me to your chamber so soon, Miss Tabris!" he exclaimed, putting a hand to his cheek in mock amazement, "I'm simply not that kind of lad!"

"Call me Ten," she said, "I think we ought to get acquainted somewhere where the whole city won't hear your screams."

Interpreting this statement in the only way his ego would allow, Villais grinned from ear to ear and followed her into her living room. He had evidently heard a few too many of the rumors of the sexual appetites of the alienage women, no doubt spread after a few too many drinks in the guards' barracks.

Inside, she boiled a pot of water over the fire and set a handful of herbs to steep in the clay teapot while Villais unbuckled his sword belt, laid it on the ground, and sat at the rickety kitchen table. The tea wouldn't do anything to her except taste slightly sweet and mellow, but once he drank it he would be rendered impotent for a day or more, until it ran through his system. You never could be too careful when dealing with humans alone behind closed doors, after all. Teneira, plying her trade and living all within the walls of the alienage, had fortunately never been in a position to have to fend off an attack of that nature. She did, however, do a brisk business with the maids whose masters had access to them, selling them powdered and liquid concentrates of the herbs she was using now. Slip it into his breakfast in the morning, he would leave you alone until nightfall. That was her guarantee, and it was effective enough to keep them coming back. She poured the concoction into two mugs, handed one to Villais, and sat across the kitchen table from him.

"My mother is from Orlais, if you couldn't tell by the unfortunate name she stuck me with," Villais said, blowing on the tea and then putting it down, "She was a maid in the house of a merchant, my father was a stable boy. She didn't sic a lynch mob on my father. I know that's what you were thinking."

"What happened, then?" she asked.

"When she told him she was with child, he took off into the wilds to find the Dalish, rather than stick by her side and see her through it," Villais said, "The Orlesian expats live in a neighborhood not unlike this one. They dispense their own justice, much like you do here. They wouldn't have hung him, if that's the reason you'd give for him skipping town on her."

"I see," Teneira said, "But rather than come here among your people, you chose to pass as one of them?"

"Well that's not entirely fair, is it," he said, "I _am _one of them, half of me anyway. My elfin half abandoned me before I was even born, so forgive me if I haven't exactly had the opportunity to identify with you people." He looked down at his tea.

"You people," Ten scoffed. She lifted her own mug to her lips and drank deeply. He relaxed visibly, watching her do this, and took a swig himself.

"I say, that's quite delicious, Ten," he said, "I can call you Ten, right?"

She nodded.

"I hear you trade in poisons," he said, "Forgive me if I was a bit hesitant to drink something that you gave me without seeing you drink it first."

She smiled at him, "Of course," she said, "I would have thought you a fool if you had drank it down without even wondering." She paused, changing the subject, "And your answer is that yes, you are half human. But if the humans knew you were half elfin, they would look down on you. You might lose everything if it came out. We wouldn't do that. We would accept you."

"And isn't that what you're doing now, inviting me in, for tea?" he asked, "My mother herself was a pariah after the war. I got by on wits and good looks alone, Ten. I would appreciate it if you and I can have a civil working relationship. I mean, I respect what it is you do. You don't trade in drugs or women, like some of the other neighborhood bosses, and you don't extort merchants or passers-through."

She looked at him critically over her mug. His face was honest and open, or he was doing a good job of pretending to be those things. She hadn't had the time to research properly as she had with Rasphander, mostly because, unlike Rasphander, he didn't live in a house with servants who resided in the alienage, who would then tell her all of his business. She had, in fact, never heard of Villais before this very day. The list she had compiled given all the intelligence she had on the guard was that the next sergeant in line should have been one Enerys Welfeth, the mistress of one of the higher-ups in the command. She was actually looking forward to dealing with a woman for a change. But this Airon Villais, this half-breed Orlesian whelp who thought that a pretty face and shiny teeth would get you wherever you wanted to go, even into bed with the woman whom everyone else had the good sense to fear, he might be of some use to her yet.

"So how about that kiss, love?" he asked.

"Now Sergeant," she chided, "I never mix business with pleasure. And I'd suggest you take the same rule to heart. You don't know what happened to the last Sergeant."

"Old Kitheril?" he asked, referring to the guard that Rasphander had been brought in to replace, "Kitheril died in his bed of apoplexy."

"Yes, he did," she said, "And I'd take care, lest you meet the same fate."

Airon looked at her sideways, and then down at the mug that he'd just emptied.

"Did you kill him?" he asked her flat out.

"You said it yourself," she said, shrugging, "The old man died of apoplexy. Such things happen, after all, to old men. Men who have outlived their usefulness, so to speak."

Villais blanched visibly.

"Well it seems," she said, "That the way to avoid such a fate would be to keep oneself useful."

"And what can I do to be of use to you?" he asked.

"I need an eye kept on Rasphander," she said, "As you likely know, I am not his favorite person right now. I imagine you're not too high up on his list either. I have eyes in his household, but I doubt if he were planning some sort of retribution for his post, he would plan it there."

"And what will you do with any information I do give you?" he asked, uncomfortable with the prospect of spying on one of his brothers.

"That's of no concern to you, love," she said, "It's not him I'd be worried about right now. After all, it's not him in my kitchen."

She went into the cupboard. There, the Reverend Mother sat coiled in her cage. Ten reached in carefully and caught her around her neck. The Mother hissed her displeasure.

"Sorry, darlin'," she said, grasping the black snake, "I need something from you and you'll have a fat and tasty rat for your troubles."

Holding the snake by the back of the head and supporting the rest of her body in her arms, she returned to the kitchen.

"What in Andraste's name is that?" Villais demanded, leaping up from the table, shoving his chair to the floor with a clatter, "Are you going to poison me?"

"Maker, no," she replied, "You've not outlived your usefulness yet, have you. This is part of my business, I thought you'd be interested in watching. Big man like yourself, wouldn't be afraid of a little creature like her."

"That's a black cattle adder," he said, identifying the species correctly, which was rather impressive, "A bite from that will bring down a grown bull. Forgive me if I'm not too thrilled to see you cradling one like a baby."

Ten took a vial over which she'd stretched a thin bit of leather. Easing up on the Reverend Mother's neck, she let the snake strike out and bite it. She grabbed the snake's head again, not too hard, just enough pressure to hold it there while the venom, clear and viscous, oozed into the vial. "The venom of a cattle adder is potent, you are right, but used correctly it can cure paralysis."

"Is that what you use it for?" he asked, still eying her nervously.

"Not me personally," she said, "I sell it to those who have the talent for healing poultices. My own gift does not lie there." She stroked the snake's head with her finger, coaxing more venom out of her.  
>"A drop diluted it water will add sting to an arrow, coat your blade with it, it will make your enemy's muscles seize and spasm even with the smallest nick. I'm one of two or three people in Denerim with the stones to pick up a full grown cattle adder by the neck, let alone keep one in my cupboard."<p>

The flow of venom slowed as the Reverend Mother emptied her sac.

"Thanks, dearheart," she said to the snake, disengaged her fangs from the leather, and put her gently back in her cage. She then went to the rat trap in the corner, where a freshly dead one was lying with its neck broken. She picked it up by the tail and put it in the snake's cage. She didn't watch her eat, something about the way a snake could unhinge its jaw to swallow a rat twice the size of its head didn't sit quite right with her.

"And you have gotten five or six doses of that in that vial alone," Villais observed.

"Oh, I assure you, my sales are strictly on the up and up. I know a bandit when I see one and I'm quite happy to refuse their coin," she said, "I just wanted to show you how it's done."

"For the purpose of?"

"Scaring the everliving shit of you," she replied, smiling coolly, "And showing you what will happen if you try to cross me. You may think of yourself as an elf when it conveniences you, Sergeant, but as far as I'm concerned, you're just another round-ear who thinks he can waltz into the alienage and proposition the first elf woman he sees without consequence."

"Look, I'm just trying to do my job," he said, "If I catch a few pretty ladies on my way, I've always counted it as a bonus. I didn't mean anything by it. A lad like me doesn't get an opportunity like this every day. Look, I'll let you punch me, right in the face, if it'll mean peace in the alienage on my watch!"

She smiled then. The poor boy was quite frightened of her, just the way she preferred it.

"Then I see we have come to an understanding, Airon Villais," she said. He put out his hand, which she shook once, twice, and then pulled him to her and gave him the kiss he had requested. He tasted not unpleasantly of woodsmoke. He had inherited a smooth, hairless face from his elfin father, and so the kiss didn't feel alien as it had the two times she had allowed a human man to kiss her, all stubble and such. All in all, she assessed, quite a pleasant experience.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"If I had kissed you before, it would have been on your terms," she said, "Now that we understand each other fully, I could kiss you on my terms."

"Does it mean anything?" he asked.

"Maker's breath!" she laughed, "Do you mean anything by it every time you kiss a pretty girl?"

"Not all pretty girls are like you, thank the Maker," he said, "I just… you seem so… I don't know." His tanned face went red, and he looked about nervously, not meeting her eyes.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm to be married within the month," she said, smirking, "And so I'm going around kissing all the handsome lads I find, to get it out of my system so I can be a faithful wife."

"I'm not sure if I feel sorry for the man that will be sharing your bed, or if I'm ragingly jealous of him," Villais said, smiling, "Well, I suppose I ought to be off. If I stay any longer in your house, I'm sure the townsfolk will talk."

"Farewell, Sergeant Villais," she said, grinning, "I'm sure we'll meet again."

"Yes," he said, "I suppose we shall."

He turned and made as if to walk out the door, but paused with his hand on the knob.

"Ten," he said, "Can I kiss you again?"

"If you must," she replied, "But that's as far as you're getting with me."

"That's as far as I care to get," he replied. He took her by the back of the head, his hand tangled in her hair, and kissed her in earnest. It was the kind of kiss that stuck her heart to her throat and her feet to the floor, the kind of kiss that only happened in the final scene of a play between two people who were madly in love but had been kept apart for years. It was not the kind of kiss one was supposed to have with a stranger in ones kitchen, but that was the kind of kiss that he gave her. As promised, he kept his hands in decent places. When he let her go, the unthinkable had happened; the Arlessa of the Alienage had let someone else get the upper hand.

He returned to his beat, and she to her stall, and she spoke of it with nobody, not Shianni, not Soris. The whole affair was rather embarrassing in hindsight, but for a long while after that, when she daydreamed, it was Airon Villais that she daydreamed about. Even after the whole debacle that would ensue, those two kisses with a stranger in her kitchen would bring her comfort and a little thrill in her heart. That much, she was grateful for on the long, lonely nights that were to come.


	3. Tomorrow is My Wedding Day

It was interesting how little control the elves of the alienage had over major parts of their lives – whom they were to marry, for example, but how much freedom they had in other respects. Teneira could not even plan her own wedding, but in the shed behind her father's house, she could play with extracts and toxins to her heart's content. She could slip a potion to a desperate human woman who was on her sixth pregnancy and could barely feed the five she already had. She could share an electrifying glance with the young sergeant of the guard who walked the beat in the alienage across a crowded market. The days before her wedding were like living in an odd dream. Every day the same thing happened. She stood behind her stall. Villais came by. She offered a poultice. He asked for a kiss. She blushed, and waved him off.

On the day before her wedding, she was closing up shop early for the day. Most of her regular customers had already come by with their orders, and she wanted to take some time for herself. She was stacking the boxes of potions back into her wheelbarrow when Villais came by.

"A poultice, sir?" she asked, lowering her eyes.

He leaned on the counter of the stall, with no merriment in his face. "I require a meeting with the arlessa," he said.

She looked up at him in alarm for a second, and then returned to her business, speaking to the bottles, not to him, "In the room on the second floor above the general store. Tonight, after sundown. Will you have your guardsmen with you?"

"I will be alone."

"I am never alone," she replied, "Bring guards if you'd like."

"I don't anticipate this becoming too dangerous," he said, though he looked uneasy.

In the room where she had first met Eddin Rasphander, Teneira sat, puffing nervously on her pipe and waiting for Villais to arrive. She looked up at the portrait of her mother, hoping that it all wasn't about to bite her in the arse. Adaia looked coldly down at her through green eyes that Anoril Valstrig had painted so beautifully, offering neither advice nor comfort.

Villais arrived soon after, alone, as promised.

"Where are your people?" he asked.

"They're around," she replied, "What do you have to tell me? Or was this a pretext to get me alone?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Tabris," he said, "This is serious business. Rasphander's after my head, he's after your head, and the heads of everyone that was in this room with you."

"My cousins," Teneira said, "Bloody hell… Soris is getting married tomorrow as well, I can't exactly tell him to leave town…"

"Tomorrow?" Villais asked, all of a sudden taking on the look of a cat that had been doused with a basin full of dish water, "You're getting married tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," she said, unable to meet his gaze, "What's going on?"

"I won't bore you with politics in the guardhouse," Villais said, "Smug prick was bragging all over the barracks that he had a plan to take care of you, me, the rest of the squad, and your damn cousins all at the same time."

"But you don't know what he's planning," she said.

"I don't think I can protect you," he said.

"You're not here to protect me," she said, "You're here to protect the alienage."

"I don't think this hole has a fighting chance without you," he said.

"Does he mean to kill me?" she asked.

"No, just to 'send a message,' as he put it," Villais responded, "To 'put an uppity sow in her place.' He was drunk when he said it, I don't know If it was all bluster or… or if he's got something very sinister in mind indeed."

Ten sighed. She was expecting something like this to happen. _Of all the damned stupid times to get married, _she thought. Life in the alienage was always a gamble. They had their traditions because it gave them a set of rules, things you were supposed to do when bad things happened. Funeral rites, the rites performed when a child was born, and, yes, marriage.

One of her first memories was of a body being launched over the high gate, sprawling on the cobblestones. She didn't know the boy personally, but hung back and watched as the crowd gathered. Her father stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, not even trying to shield her. The body was purpled with bruises, the face nearly unrecognizable. But one did recognize him. His mother, who started screaming.

"Is she scared, dad?" asked Ten. She must have been six or seven.

"Yes, love," her father had told her, "We're all scared."

"What happened to him?"

"Looked at the arlessa in a way she didn't like," he replied.

"Will that happen to me?"

"No, love," he said, "That won't happen to you. Guard your eyes, Teneira, and guard your body. But most of all, guard your spirit. That's the one thing they can't damage."

"Yes, dad," she replied, though she didn't really know what he was talking about.

She figured it out when she was fourteen. She'd had a six-month apprenticeship with an Antivan alchemist who operated out of the market district, and was set loose on the alienage to ply her trade. When the elfin women came to her, seeking to cast out the child of a rapist, she saw in their eyes what her father was talking about. Damaged spirits, all. Hollow eyes and cheeks, bodies deprived of rest and peace. She would give them the potion to bring on a miscarriage, a poultice to stanch the blood if it were too much, and then a sedative.

"You're stronger than you think," she'd tell them, "Someday, our daughters will not have to endure this." Some nodded, thanked, her and left. Some broke down sobbing. When the first girl cried in her arms, a girl not much older than her, who'd been raped by her employer's son and then called a strumpet and beaten by her father when she returned home bleeding, Teneira had resolved to develop her talents in other directions. Mysteriously, the son of the girl's master came down with a strange disease. He'd survived, but the infection took both of his legs. The father was easier. She and Soris, with masks over their eyes to hide their identities, crept in through his window and held a knife to his throat, promising a slow death if he laid hands on his daughter again.

"Part of me understands him," Soris said, after they'd climbed down and sheathed their knives, "He doesn't have the power to protect his daughter. It angers him, and he turns that anger on the worst target possible."

"He's a fool and a bully," Teneira surmised.

That was the path she had gone down that, eight years later, had her sitting pretty as the Arlessa of the Alienage. But now the time had come that she was learning the limits of her own power, sitting at her grand meeting-room table across a half-elf who passed as human, being told that her words had rubbed someone the wrong way and she should expect retaliation.

"Is there no way I can convince you to leave town?" Villais asked.

"Leave town and go where?" she asked.

"I don't know," he sighed, "One of the hamlets outside the city walls. Even leaving the alienage… you could stay with my mother. Pretend you're her new live-in maid."

"A show of weakness," she said, though she was surprised and a little flattered at his offer to protect her, "And how long do you expect me to wash your mother's underclothes until I return?"

"Until Eddin forgets about it," he said.

"He's not going to forget about it," Teneira said, "There's no way out of this one. I thank you for the warning, Sergeant Villais, but not showing up at my own wedding would put me in a worse position. The best I can do is prepare."

"How are you going to do that?" he asked, "If I may ask."

"You may not," she said, "If you're a clever boy, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"I think you're in over your head, Ten," he said.

"I think I am too," she admitted, and saying it out loud felt as though she were putting a huge burden down. She slumped in her chair, her head in her hands, thinking furiously of what she would have to do. A dagger under her wedding dress, poisons in leather flasks in her boots. She could protect herself, but there would be consequences.

"Don't do it, Ten," Villais said, his voice suddenly gentle. He got up from his seat and approached her from behind, gingerly putting his hand on the back of her neck, "They'll destroy you. You may live, but you won't be yourself anymore."

"And what is that to you?" she asked, "What is that to Airon Villais?"

"It would pain me to see such a lovely bird in a cage," he said, "To never hear her sing for joy." His hand on her neck became bolder, spreading out, his fingers curling over one shoulder.

"We are all in cages," Teneira replied coldly, "If they wanted me dead, I would be dead. Why do you think your commander put you in charge of the alienage? I did not even have to speak a word, Eddin did that all on his own. The guard, and the arl, know that peace in Denerim depends on a subtle balance of power. He would not be fool enough to upset it."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself, not me," Airon said.

"Besides," Ten said, "It would take more than the worst they could do to change me. Nothing that I have endured to date has changed me…"

"I would not see you suffer," he said, "I confess…" He put his other hand on her shoulder. She made no move to stop him, though his touch raised goosebumps on her upper arms. She wondered to herself, briefly, if the lad from Highever would have the same effect on her. In the years since she became a woman, she had never quite experienced something like this, and she found it both interesting and frightening. He leaned down and put his mouth to her neck. She let it linger there for a moment, before extricating herself.

"No," she said, "I don't want to hear it."

"If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me, I'll leave and never ask for a kiss again," he said.

"I ply my trade through lies and sweet words," Teneira said, though she could not meet his eyes, "What would make you think I would not lie to you now?"

"And that was answer enough for me," Villais said, cracking a smile for a brief moment before his face became sober again, "So, how long before you divorce the boy and come run away with me to Orlais? To Antiva? To the Free Marches?"

She laughed, "Was all your talk about Rasphander a ploy to get me to speak about my wedding? Believe me, Airon, were I to go weak in the knees whenever a handsome man put his hands on me I would be an ineffective leader indeed."

"Alas, that I should be so clever," he said, "No, but I see now that you've made up your mind. I don't know how I feel about your position here, but I see that you take it seriously. I suppose that I respect that."

She chuckled ruefully, "Whatever you think of what I lead, I am a leader. Did King Cailan choose to marry Anora MacTir?"

"He could certainly have done worse," Villais said, thinking on the queen, who was quite a notorious beauty, "But did I just hear that right, did you just compare yourself to King Cailan? I hate to break it to you, my dear, but the tenuous hold you have over this little hole in Denerim's wall is not exactly much compared to the duty of a King of Fereldan?"

"Indeed, you misunderstand me, Sergeant Villais. If a king cannot choose his bride than what right have I to expect it?" Teneira asked humbly.

"I jest," Villais said, "Yes, you must do as is expected of you. Even to your own demise, I see that now. You would rather die doing your duty than live a thousand years looking back on having betrayed it."

"Such brave words spoken by a man who does not know me in the least," Teneira said, "I am lucky to have such an easy duty to fulfill."

"Well let's pray that you never have a duty beyond threatening guards and preventing all the maids in Denerim from poisoning their mistresses."

"Or encouraging all the maids in Denerim to poison their mistresses, if it's politically desirable," Teneira countered, "I thank you for your concern, Sergeant Villais. I do hope that we will continue to have such a fine working relationship in the future."

"And I do hope your husband isn't the jealous type," he said, "I don't intend to stop asking for a kiss until I receive one."

"And if I gave you one now?"

"That might sate my curiosity for an hour or two, at which time I will be knocking on your door requesting another," Villais said, "Of course, I _am _a guardsman. I suppose I could always trump up some charges and have him…"

"You shouldn't joke about such things," she said. The mere suggestion of it made stomach sink, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Her hand involuntarily gripped the dagger she kept at her waist.

"Oh, Maker's breath that was awfully stupid and insensitive of me to say," he said, "I apologize, Arlessa."

"One day, half-breed, you will understand what it is to be one of us," she said, "I only hope you are able to tolerate it."


	4. Bride Price

The morning dawned bright, though little sunlight came through the dirty windows. Ten preferred it that way. Not so easy to look in. She awoke to Shianni shaking her. The dear girl had evidently been up for hours, clearly much more excited about her cousin's wedding than her cousin was. Shianni and Soris, though both cousins to Teneira, were not related to each other. Shianni was the daughter of Adaia's brother, while Soris was the son of her father Cyrion's sister. Cyrion's good fortune to find a match for his daughter, who had a female relative, cousin of some order, who needed a husband, unfortunately did not benefit Shianni as it did Soris. Ten felt a little guilty, knowing that Shianni really, really wanted to be married and Ten seemed to have all the luck with men. She resolved that once she was a married woman and her station in the alienage legitimized, she would write to one of her contacts in Redcliffe and see if she couldn't call a favor due.

"Come on, Ten!" Shianni squealed, "It's your wedding day, no sense in dawdling about. Anyway, the word is your groom is the handsomest lad seen around these parts in _ages_!"

"I'm up, I'm up," Teneira grumbled. She tied her hair back and brewed a pot of tea, something with a jolt to wake her up and get her through the day. She tried to get excited, she really did. She'd never really been one for chasing boys around, like Shianni had, when they were adolescents. She didn't see the big deal about the boys of the alienage – anyway, they would all be given in arranged marriages – what was the point? When she was younger, she didn't remember how young exactly, she'd resolved to figure out what the big deal was a let one of her neighbors put his tongue in her mouth and his hand up her shirt. She left the encounter more confused than ever.

When she'd lain with a man for the first time, it had been an act of defense. It was common knowledge that, more likely than not, an elf woman would be subject to some nonconsensual or semiconsensual sexual activity at some point in her life – after all, how meaningful was saying "yes" when saying "no" meant that you would never work again? Or that your father or brother would be punished for your recalcitrance? Her aunt Pali had suggested it – find a lad you like, and lie with him. That way a human won't be able to claim your virginity as a prize. She wasn't sure that that was much better, either way the humans were controlling what you did, but she did as her aunt said, and seduced a stable boy who worked with Soris. She'd slept with a handful of lads since then, mostly to get the upper hand in a business transaction or informal treaty, sometimes after a few too many pints of beer. Given her talents with herbs she'd managed to keep it all quite consequence-free.

It really wasn't until the week before that she'd understood what all the squealing and whispered gossip was about. Kissing Villais had been a show of power – _that _she had done before. Power she understood. But the jolt of excitement that went right from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, she didn't really get that . Still, though, she hoped that she might feel something like that with this stranger that she was supposed to marry.

Absently, she let Shianni braid her hair into a dozen strands and tie the strands at the nape of her neck. Her cousin fussed over her for near to an hour, fixing every out of place hair, plucking her eyebrows into thin lines, and painting her face with pigments that she was sure had cost much too much for the girl's meager budget. She barely recognized the woman in the mirror when Shianni was done with her. Gone were the bags under her eyes, the scars she had, the few blemishes that dogged her hairline though she was well into her twenties. Her cheekbones and forehead had been highlighted with something that caught the light, her eyes traced in thin dark lines that made her eyelashes look full, and her mouth covered in something shiny and sticky that gave them a glow. She knew that she was fairly goodlooking as women went, but today, she felt as though she could turn a head or two. _Imagine, _she thought, _women who have time for this nonsense every day! How would we compete?_

She slipped the beaded wedding dress over her head. She'd picked out the fabric, but it was Shianni and Pali who had done most of the work, sewing glass beads onto the collar of the silk shift, making sure it hung right on Teneira's narrow hips. Shianni, satisfied with her work, pronounced her as good as she was going to get, and went off to change herself. Quickly, Teneira opened the chest where she kept her "emergency kit." She strapped one small knife to her thigh. The soft kidskin boots that she had planned on wearing had precious little room in them, but she managed to tuck two small vials, one containing the venom she harvested weekly from the Reverend Mother, the other containing a powerful neurotoxin produced by a particular breed of eel that haunted dark waters underneath the docks. There was no room under her clothes for a proper dagger, but she had needles. She coated them carefully with sedatives, put them in a leather pouch where they would not stick her by accident, and hung the pouch on her belt as though it was something much more innocent.

As she left the house, she encountered Soris, moping on the front stoop. She sucked in her breath sharply. Soris moping could mean one of a few things, and on his wedding day there was one that was more likely than the others. In all likelihood he'd snuck a peak at his bride and been… disappointed.

"Ain't like you're much to look at," she admonished him. Men were all the same, expecting to have a lovely woman while they themselves were asymmetric in the face or fat or, as in Soris's case, pale and freckled. For many it was as though it had never occurred to them that women were people with desires as well.

"I could dream," he sighed.

"I'm sure she's not that bad," Teneira said, "Maybe she's a great cook."

"You look amazing," he said, "Your husband might even be impressed." He gestured with his chin over to where two elves, a man and a woman, were chatting underneath the _vehnedahl_. The woman was plain, but not ugly, though her ears did stick out like human caricatures of elves. The man, though quite pale, which she should have anticipated; Cyrion had told her at some point that he was a goldsmith by trade, was, as Soris had suggested, very handsome.

"What's his name again?" she asked her cousin, realizing that in all the hubbub that had gone on for the last week, she had not bothered to find it out.

"Nelaros," Soris said, "The girl's Valora."

"I'm sure she'll give you a dozen fat and beautiful children," Teneira said, clapping him on the back and going to say hello.

"That's hardly a comfort, Ten!" he called after her.

On her way over, Cyrion interrupted her by quite literally standing in her way.

"I would have a word with you, daughter," he said. She smiled at the old man, and nodded, not wanting to fight about whatever he wanted to fight about. Cyrion was of a mind that women, his daughter in particular, should stick to soft power. Marrying Adaia had been the only act of rebellion the poor man had ever committed, and he had made the mistake of thinking that he could marry the beautiful, wild, creature, and tame it once he'd locked her up. She understood her father's concerns, really. She did put herself in harm's way in a way that she wouldn't if she only used her wits to influence the men around her to act.

"What is it, Dad?" she asked, though she knew what it was.

"Look, I know that your mother, Maker keep her soul, was a talented fighter and rogue. I've seen you grow into her match and more, Teneira, but…"

"But what, Dad?"

"You're getting married now, to a nice man with a good trade," Cyrion said, "Don't you think you ought to give up your…"

"My alchemist's stall?" Ten asked.

"You know very well that's not what I'm talking about," he whispered furiously, "This whole… crime boss business, whatever it is you do."

"I'm not a crime boss, dad," she said, "I'm just a negotiator. I make sure things run smoothly and nobody gets too big for their britches. People listen to me here. It wouldn't be wise to let that go."

"I wish I were twenty-two again, and I still knew everything," Cyrion sighed.

"I'm a woman grown, Dad," she said.

"I know you fancy yourself a public servant," he said, "And if you were human I am sure that you would be high up in the Arl's council chambers. But there comes a time when every one of us must accept their lot in life."

"My lot in life is to keep the peace in this neighborhood," she said, "Mind you, you live here, you keep your shop here. You ought to be very glad that we have not had a riot in ages."

"I can't protect you," he said.

"Elf men can't protect their own women," she said, "That's how we learned to protect ourselves." She turned her back to him and stalked off. What she said was true, but a painful truth. Her father could not protect her, neither could her cousin, and her new husband would not be able to either. She fingered the pouch at her waist, remembering Airon's warning. She hoped and prayed that she had been right when she teased him, that he had invented the whole thing to try to get her alone.

By this time, she had been noticed. The pale man who was to be her husband hurried over. She smiled, and he paused, about a foot away. They looked at each other awkwardly. Out of nowhere, they both started laughing.

"This is awkward, isn't it?" she said.

"Quite," he agreed, "I'm Nelaros. I guess… I guess we're to be married."

"I'm Ten," she said, putting her hand out.

"You're ten?" he asked, confused, "You don't look… I didn't… you're joking right?"

"Maker's breath," she swore, "My name is Ten. Short for Teneira."

"Oh!" he exhaled a short breath of relief, "All right, Teneira it is. This is my dear friend Valora." She looked up to see that the plain girl had joined him. Up close, she was almost pretty, her skin pale and delicate. Her ears were quite… something… but her eyes were a brilliant blue that sparkled in the sunlight. Teneira looked behind her to see that Soris had come to join her after all. She seized him by the arm and push him in front of her.

"This is my cousin Soris," she said, "I wish you a dozen fat and beautiful children."

Nelaros began laughing again as both Valora and Soris blushed red, "She's been hearing that for weeks."

"Come walk with me," she said, "I'd like a word before we're eternally bound."

"Maker save us all," he chuckled. They took a turn around the Alienage, and she informed him softly of exactly who it was he was throwing his hat in with. He listened to her, obviously not quite sure if she was joking as she described the sorts of things she did, the types of codes she enforced, and the informal treaties she had with various neighborhood guards.

"Look, I'd hate for you to get into something without your eyes open," she said, "If you don't want to marry me, I won't blame you. In fact I'll make it happen, I'll announce I'm pregnant with another man's child and make a scene so embarrassing that nobody will blame you for abandoning me at the altar. I even have a single cousin my father can ceremonially offer to you in my stead."

"That's quite an offer, Teneira," Nelaros said. He was silent for a moment, "You know, my younger sister was taken advantage of by the man who owned the shop she swept." He blinked quickly, and Teneira could see that he had tears in his eyes, "I went after him with a knife one night in a dark alley. I meant to kill him, but he was faster than I was. Took off a couple of his fingers, though… it wasn't enough, though, wounding him. She drank a jug of rat poison. If you're the one that prevents things like that from happening, or sees that the people who do it are punished properly… I wouldn't date ask you to give that up."

"I'm glad we understand each other," she said. She was surprised by the size of the weight that his approval of her took from her shoulders. He was a good man, she could tell that much, and she had always been good at sizing others up. He was a good man, and handsome, and approved of her line of work where many men would demand she abandon it. She would never be that lucky again.

"So… wedding," he said, "Should probably get along to that, shouldn't we."

She smiled, and took his arm. Elder Valendrian, the man who ran the day to day affairs of the Alienage, or at least who thought he did, was waiting to perform the ceremony. He was chatting with a human, an older male, in his fifties perhaps. He wore the shining plate of a knight, but his head was uncovered, and Teneira could see that he kept his hair long and his face bearded. She looked at him suspiciously as they approached the elder. The human said nothing, but she could feel his eyes upon her. It wasn't in an untoward way, though, she felt. His eyes lingered on her thigh where she kept her knife, and she knew that he had discovered at least that one secret.

She looked at him and put a finger to her lips. The human smiled, seemingly impressed by her boldness.

"Well well!" she heard the cry raised over the chatting crowds that had gathered for the spectacle, "What do we have here?"

Her heart sank as she looked up to see a small group of human men. She fingered the pouch of needles at her waist and looked to the human man Valendrian had been talking with, but he had disappeared sometime in the intervening seconds.

"Isn't it cute, Braden?" he asked, "They're playing at getting married. It's like they think they're people."

"Why you-" one of Soris's groomsmen, a fellow stable lad, started, but Teneira raised her hand and he was silent.

"Well if it isn't the Arlessa of the Alienage?" he said, coming much too close for comfort, "And is this your Arl? That's just precious."

"How can I help you, Ser…" Teneira asked, keeping her voice soft.

"You don't recognized Bann Vaughan?" he exclaimed, "The son of the _actual _Arl of Denerim?"

Teneira's heart sank and she looked him more closely in the face. Sure enough, that was Eddin Rasphander's brother. No doubt the sergeant had slipped the Bann a note with her likeness and likely a description of how 'uppity' she was acting.

"You will not kneel before nobility?" he asked, putting his hand roughly on her shoulder. She knelt, taking the opportunity to seize one of her little needles from the pouch while everyone watched in horror. With her eyes on the ground, she raised her hand slightly, planning her strike. She did not see Shianni approaching the Bann from behind, and until her needle had struck home, deep in the bluish vein on the back of Vaughan's hand, she didn't see that Shianni had struck him over the head with a pot. The young lord passed out, from the blow to the head or the needle in the back of the hand, she was not sure which. She grabbed her needle out of his vein quickly and hid it in the folds of her dress.

"She just knocked him out!" one of the men in the group of humans exclaimed, "That little elf girl just knocked him right out!" The other men started laughing a bit.

"Arl's son or no, he ain't gonna live this one down," one of the others said.

"Bet she's this fiery in bed!" one of the others exclaimed. Shianni just stood there, paralyzed by the magnitude of what she had just done.

The humans slung their friend, one arm over each of their shoulders, and got him out of there. The gathered elves looked over at the guardbox, where Kennit, the old man, was dozing. Depending on how hilarious the friends found Bann Vaughan being knocked on his arse by a wisp of an elf girl, there was the possibility that they would have gotten away with it.

The wedding proceeded. That was the way of the city elves. Something odd happens, you stop and look for a moment, then you go on about your business. Teneira could not concentrate on the ceremony, but offered her consent when prompted. Her mind raced. She hoped that there would be at least a couple of days before retribution for this particular incident. The sedative she'd given him was somewhat powerful, but since she could not afford the fancy syringes that human alchemists and doctors used to administer drugs intravenously, she was reduced to giving him a very small dose, only that which a sewing needle could deliver. It would probably last less than an hour, even when compounded by the blow that Shianni had delivered.

What she was worried about was Shianni. Nobody had seen the needle, and if he were preoccupied with his head, Vaughan would probably not notice the pinprick wound on the back of his hand. That was unfortunate. Teneira could protect herself. She was not so sure that she could protect Shianni.

Her train of thought was interrupted but her new husband taking her hand and sliding onto it a thin band of gold, and then seizing her about the waist and kissing her passionately, if clumsily. She smiled, and reciprocated. Beside them, Soris had gingerly kissed Valora on the mouth. Shianni clapped happily, and somewhere in the crowd, a fiddler started to play a merry tune.

Over the heads of the crowd, she looked over to see that Airon Villais had been standing there, watching the whole thing from the shadows. He smiled with his mouth but not his eyes, and saluted her. She waved back. Uneasily, Teneira went back to the crowd to receive congratulations, but knew that she had not seen the last of this Bann Vaughan.


	5. Maker Keep Us, Maker Preserve Us

The fiddler played, the elves of the alienage drank moonshine, and Teneira allowed herself to calm down for a moment while she danced, twirling her silk dress around her, flashing the knife at her thigh. Her small shows of power only went to cement her place in the Alienage. She saw a few knowing glances as the partygoers saw the flash of steel as she stepped and wove and swished her skirts. She didn't touch the beer or moonshine available, though, knowing that something was coming and that she had better be sober to meet it.

As the sun went down over the buildings to the west, the music stopped all of a sudden. Coming through the alienage like a shadow moving over the land, three familiar shapes arrived.

"A kiss from the bride!" roared Bann Vaughan, "I want a kiss from the bride!" Shianni had raised a goose egg on the back of his head, and his speech was slurred from the drug that Teneira had stuck him with. After it made you sleep, it made you act as though you'd had a few too many. As he approached her, tossing Nelaros out of the way like he was a bag of flour, she smelled the whiskey on his breath.

"And you, ginger!" he shouted, grabbing Shianni by one thin arm, "We have unfinished business!"

A hush fell over the crowd.

"Leave those women alone!" called a familiar voice. Airon Villais, flanked by Kennit and Jocry, approached, "I am charged with the peace in this quarter, and you are most definitely disturbing it, arl's son or not!"

"Piss off, you Orlesian piece of shit!" he growled, striking out with his arm and knocking Villais nearly over, "The guard serves at the pleasure of my father!"

"And if your father knew you were here harassing these women?" Villais countered. He wiped a streak of blood from his mouth where Vaughan had split his lip.

"Mind your eyes, guardsman," warned one of Vaughan's friends, the one he'd called Braden, "You know as well as we that the rule of law is bent for the nobles. Vaughan's already arranged for you to be kicked off the force."

Villais stood there, knowing that he was right, and knowing that he could only do harm here, no good.

"Take me, then," Teneira said boldly, "Leave these other women alone. We both know I'm the one you're after."

"And why would I give you what you want, whore?" Vaughan said, "No, I think not. Two elvish bitches is better than one, and five is better than two! You're going to want to come with us."

Teneira did something uncharacteristic at that point, and she lost her temper. _How _dare _he? _She leaned back and spat in his face. It ran down his nose, he began to laugh, and she knew she had made a fatal error. She braced herself as he hauled off and punched in square in the jaw. She saw, for a brief moment, stars dance before her eyes. She fell back and felt her head crack on the cobblestones. Her vision went blurry around the edges and a vision of a dragon flew through the stars before the world went black.

* * *

><p>"Maker keep us. Maker preserve us. Maker keep us. Maker preserve us."<p>

The words woke her up. Her head buzzed. She fingered her jaw, which was swollen and probably a questionable shade of purple. She also seemed to have a goose egg to match Vaughan's rapidly rising on the back of her head. Her hands flew to her sides. She still had her needles, and her knife, and in her boots the vials of poison she'd kept for this purpose. She looked around, taking stock of her situation.

"Where is Shianni?" she asked, her voice a rough croak.

Valora came into her field of vision and cradled her head against her arm. Brida, a friend of Soris's who had been at the wedding, was there too, and she tore a patch from her skirt to wipe the blood from Teneira's mouth. Nola, Soris's cousin on his mother's side, was kneeling in the corner, on her knees.

"Maker keep us. Maker preserve us. Maker keep us. Maker preserve us."

"Where is Shianni?" she asked again.

"They took her," Valora said, her tinkling Highever accent laden with sorrow, "Oh, Ten, if everything they say about you is true, then you have something up your sleeve, you must have some way to save us."

Teneira sat up straight, which sent the world spinning. "Yes," she said, "Yes I have something up my sleeve." She took the knife from where it was strapped to her leg and found the vial of poison in her boot. She opened it gingerly with her hands – she dared not uncork it with her teeth. Deftly, she coated the blade of the little knife.

"With all respect due, cousin," Valora said, fingering the wedding band on her finger, "Do you plan to kill them all with a paring knife?"

"I plan to try," Teneira growled. She considered for a moment. The poison would take down the first man she stabbed, but it would be weakened with the second blow. If Vaughan had Shianni, she would make him pay. She tucked the blade back into its little scabbard and waited.

"Maker keep us. Maker preserve us. Maker keep us. Maker preserve us." Nola's voice was desperate,e the tears running down her chin.

"Did they hurt her?" Teneira asked.

"Not yet," Brida said, her dark eyes wide and scared, "They said… they said that they'd come back for us when they were done with the redheaded bitch who knocked Vaughan out."

"Maker be good," Valora sighed.

Teneira got up. There were two doors to the room. The first was barred from the other side. The second had a lock too rusty to pick. She began kicking it, trying to get it open. When she succeeded, she was horrified to find that it opened only onto a broom closet.

"Are you going to beat them all to death with a mop handle?" Valora called.

"Why is it my job to save you people?" Teneira snapped, feeling desperate.

"Maker keep us. Maker preserve us. Maker keep us. Maker preserve us."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm a little on edge. They'll come for us eventually. I'm going to wait behind this door, the next time someone comes in, I'll get him from behind. Try to stay alive, I'll do what I can."

It seemed like an eternity that she stood, back against the wall, the hinges on the door to her left. Finally, the deadbolt creaked open, and in walked three guards.

"Maker keep us. Maker preserve us. Maker keep us. Maker preserve us."

"This bitch's whining's been keeping me up," the first said, nudging Nola with his boot, "Shut the fuck up!" Before Teneira could leap upon him, he had drawn steel and struck Nola in the breast. She gurgled blood, and fell, dead, on the floor.

"No!" shrieked Teneira, and leapt. The knife went into the first guard at the weak spot where his breastplate met his greaves.

"That was a bad move," he said, turning to look at her as she pulled the blade free, "If you're going to attack one of us, you'd better kill us on the first blow, not give us flesh wounds that only make us ang-"

He stopped cold. His face began to go purple as his tongue swelled and protruded from between his lips. "Aungh!" he wheezed between his lips as the venom of the Reverend Mother, that black snake, closed his throat and blackened his face. He fell over, face first, on the floor.

"Who's next?" Teneira demanded, "Who else wants to fuck with me?"

The other two guards stared at their fallen brother, and then looked back up at her, and then behind her.

"Here!" she heard the cry. She turned in time to see Soris, covered in blood and wielding an axe she knew he used to split logs at the stable where he worked. He tossed her a proper dagger, well weighted, and she caught it by the hilt. In a fluid movement, she'd seized the poison flask from the ground and uncorked it with her thumb. She coated the blade clumsily as the other two guards came at her. She threw the half-full vial at the first of them. The viscous venom flew out and hit him in the forehead, and he screamed in pain as it entered his eyes and mouth. The second one Soris beheaded. The axe had, eventually, had some sharpening.

"Get out of here!" she shouted to Valora and Brida. Not needing to be told twice, they scurried out.

"Ask the kitchen boy, he'll show you the back passage out of here!" Soris called after them.

"Where's Shianni?" he asked.

"Vaughan has her," Teneira replied, the thought making her sick to her stomach.

"Then we'll gut him like a fish," Soris said.

"I like the way you think," she said, "Where's my husband?"

"He's holding off three guards in the hallway," he replied.

"Well let's go help him then!" she cried.

They tumbled out of the door to the store room where they had been kept and ran down the hall first to the left, then to the right. They found their way upstairs and into the main hall. Night had fallen while Teneira was out, and the castle was nearly empty. Except, of course, for the guard and Nelaros, fencing up and down the long hall, the sound of steel on steel echoing off the walls. She stood there, helplessly, watching the fight. Stepping in now would only make things worse.

Unless, of course, they could not get any worse. Nelaros's blue eyes fell on her as she entered the room, and the guard took the opening, stabbing him through his unarmored chest. He fell back, the blade still in him, and the guard turned to see what had distracted him. He didn't have much time before Teneira's dagger flashed in the air. She would not kill him with poison. This would be an honorable kill. She slashed his throat nearly to the bone, and he fell back, his nearly severed head flapping as he hit the ground.

Nelaros was still alive, but would not be for long. She knelt by his side.

"Well this is a mess," he said, watching his life blood pour from his heart and spread out on the stones around him, "You weren't…" he stopped a moment to take a breath, "You weren't kidding, Ten. You're a dangerous woman to know."

"If it makes you feel better, I'll be making up for this one for the rest of my life," she said.

"You'll have an interesting life," he said, "I'll tell you that much."

"Didn't need you to tell me that one, love. Is the pain terrible?"

"Do me a favor," he wheezed, "As my wife. Take this blade from my chest."

"You'll die."

"I'm going to die either way," he said, "I'd rather not do it with _shemlen _steel in my body."

She smoothed the pale hair from his forehead.

"I'm sorry we didn't know each other better," she said, "I think I could have loved you."

"And I you," he replied, "If you're ever in Highever, tell my father what became of me."

"I promise," she said.

She seized the blade by its hilt. It was a fine weapon, much nicer than the one she held. She braced herself against the bloody floor and pulled it free. Following it was a great gush of blood, and within a minute, her husband lay dead in her arms.

"Wife and widow, all in six hours," she sighed.

"We'll make them pay, Ten," Soris said.

"My lord?" she heard a woman's voice say. She turned to see a maid, an elf, standing in the doorway, looking in horror at the volume of blood that covered the floor, probably thinking how much time it would take to clean it up. She recognized her, the daughter of a shopkeeper. She wracked her brain for her name.

"Teneira Tabris?" the maid asked.

Teneira nodded, holding her breath, trying to think of her name.

"It's me, Manda," the maid said, "You helped me, three months ago. After Vaughan…"

She remembered her all of a sudden. A worldweary woman already, she had come for a preventative. She knew of her master's appetites, and wanted to guard against having to end a pregnancy. Teneira had given her something that would prevent conception, and some of the tea that would make a man impotent. Manda had cried for fear at what was to happen to her, but she had an ailing brother and could not support the family without the arl's generous wages.

"What happened?" Manda asked, drawing close, not wanting to touch the bloodsoaked bride.

"They killed my husband," Teneira said, pointing to Nelaros, "And they took my cousin."

Manda did an odd thing then, and began stripping off her clothes.

"Wash yourself in the basin over there," she said, pointing to the room where she'd come from. It looked to be the scullery, "Hurry!"

Numbly, Teneira obeyed, stripping off her ruined wedding dress and scrubbing the blood from her skin. After two buckets from the great stone cistern, she was clean, if shaken.

"You too!" Manda shouted to Soris, "The kitchen boy keeps a change of clothes in that cupboard over there. Put them on." Soris did as well, stripping down and washing the blood from himself.

Scrubbed clean of her enemy's blood, Teneira took the kitchen maid's clothes and put them on, pulling the simple shift over her head and tying the apron about her waist. She tied her hair back and put Manda's kerchief over it. Similarly disguised, Soris joined her. There was room under the apron for her to hand both his axe and her blade from her belt. Neither would show too obviously if she were careful when she walked.

"Make them pay," Manda ordered. She took the wedding dress and put it in the basin, pouring water from the cistern over it, "I'll get a change from the quarters when I get a chance. Now, go! Make them all pay for what they've done to us!"

Meekly, a new scullery maid and kitchen boy snuck down the hallway of the great castle. The guards ignored them as they crept up a spiral staircase and up to the main floor. She heard the carousing all the way from the top of the stairs. Scanning the room, she saw no guards. She drew the blade out from under her skirts, and handed Soris his axe. Quietly, they made it to the end of the hall. Soris threw himself against the great oaken door once, twice, and it flew open.

The first thing she saw was Shianni on the floor, covering her head. Then, she saw the Bann, and his friends. They then saw her, and the two stood at détente, staring at each other.

"I killed your guards," she offered, "Ruined the floor in your main hall, too. I doubt their blood will ever come out of the stones."

"You've really got a pair, don't you, arlessa," he sneered.

"By the end of tonight, I'll have yours too," she replied.

"Look," he said, "I'd hate to get blood on this outfit, it's new. How about forty sovereigns, and you walk out of this, it'll be like nothing ever happened."

"And the other women?"

"You wouldn't deprive a young boy of his toys, would you? We'll return them in the morning. We'll try not to use them too hard," he said.

"I see nothing I will do will put the fear of the Maker in you," she said, "I suppose you'll have to die."

"Now, _that _I would like to see," Vaughan said, "Boys!"

The two young lords that had accompanied him looked at each other nervously. "I don't know about this, Vaughan," one of them said, "Maybe we should give them what they want."

"Cowards!" scoffed Vaughan, "Give them an inch, they'll take a mile."

The first lord tried to leave the room, not meeting her eyes. She reached out in a flash of steel and caught him in the shoulder. He drew his own blade, and fought her. He was talented, feinting and parrying, but she'd injured his good arm, and he was clumsy with his off hand. She got him to the ground and stood there, her boot on his windpipe, until he had breathed his last.

The second approached her, too horrified at what had just happened to his friend to stop it. He was unarmed, and his pants were done, and he was wearing shoes. It didn't look as though he'd taken part in whatever had happened to Shianni.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, "I hope you won't think too ill of me."

"I've a mind to take your thumbs, Ser Knight," she said, "The only thing worse than a person doing the wrong thing because he doesn't think is wrong is someone who does the wrong thing knowing it is." He was off his guard, and she slipped her blade into his soft belly, thrusting it up behind his ribcage and into his heart.

"That was too good a death for him," Soris said.

"The Maker will make him die a thousand more," Teneira said, "Now, Vaughan…"

She didn't have time. Shianni had sprung to her feet and grabbed a torch from the sconce on the wall. She thrust it into the bann's face while he screamed and shoved her off him. She would not be stopped though, acting with a strength that was not hers alone. He reached out blindly, his face like raw meat, seeking to choke her. Soris silently handed her his axe, and, seizing it with both hands, she began chopping at the lord like a crazed woodcutter. She screamed her fury and pain at him as she did so, and eventually he collapsed, his forearm nearly separated from his body, bleeding from a thousand deep wounds.

"Are they all dead?" Shianni asked, wiping her attacker's blood from her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "They've paid for their crimes."

"Come on, Shianni," said Soris, "Let's get back." He took her by the shoulders and guided her from the room. From the way Shianni walked, they must have used her roughly indeed, Teneira observed.

Teneira paused, looking at the havoc she'd wrecked. She'd never killed a man like that before. She had done grievous injury, to be sure, but always in the interest of scaring the other. Never before had the rage seized her hand so hard to actually make her kill. She let her blades fall to the ground, and limped back outside, out the servant's exit, and out into the city. She did not want to be back at the alienage, at least not yet. She had unfinished business before they hung her. She went to a door in the Orlesian quarter, and knocked.

"Ten!" Villais exclaimed, seeing her standing, bruised and bloodied in the middle of the night, on his doorstep, "What happened to you?" His hair was disheveled, and he wore what were clearly his pajamas.

"Airon," she said, "I killed him. I killed them all. You have to turn me in."

"What?" he demanded. He stepped back and let her into his house. It was small, but well furnished and comfortable-looking.

"You heard what he said," Teneira said, "Eddin Rasphander had his hands all over this. He means me to be executed and you disgraced. I won't let him win."

"If I turn you in, they'll execute you," he said.

"They'll execute me either way," she said, "If you turn me in, you'll keep your post. You'll be able to help the people of the alienage when I'm not around anymore."

He was silent, his green eyes sorrowful. He knew she was right. Whatever she'd done, she would hang. The arl would see to it.

"Come in," he said, "I'll do as you ask, but not until tomorrow. I won't have you paraded before the city looking like this."

She hung her head and went in further. Silently, he fetched her a basin on water. She sat on a bench in his living room, and he gently wiped the blood and sweat from her face and hands. He paused as he reached the gold ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"They killed him," she said, "He's not the jealous type anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Ten," he said.

"I barely knew him," she said, putting her hand on his face.

He leaned in and kissed her then, a gentle, exploratory kiss that she could have broken off at any time.

_Fuck it, _she thought, _My life is over. What duty do I have any more? Why not do one thing Teneira wants to do, and not what's best for the elves of Denerim?_ She leaned in, let him kiss her more deeply, the warmth of his mouth sending tingles all over her aching body. She wound her arms around his neck pulling him down on her on the bench. He stroked her neck, her shoulders, tugging her hair lightly. He lifted her gently and took her back into the bedroom, putting her on his bed and pushing the skirt she'd borrowed from Manda the scullery made above her thigh. He unbuckled the knife belt from her thigh, took the boots from her feet, kissed the inside of her knee.

She stroked his head as he took her underclothes from her and explored her with his mouth. She moaned and shivered, too tired to anything but let him do what he would. In a few moments she was arching her back and moaning his name to the ceiling, her hand tangled in his dark hair.

"We don't have to…" he said, making his way back up to her face.

"Yes we do," she said, "This is my last night in this world, and I doubt the Fade is populated with such handsome people."

He chuckled, "As you wish, my lady."

_It's funny, _she thought as she unbuttoned his shirt and he unbuckled his pants, _I don't think I've ever done this in a bed before. _She smiled at this thought, and kissed him deeply. There, on the Teneira's last night, they made love until dawn.


	6. Execution Day

An hour before the dawn, a courier knocked on Villais's door, handing him a missive. He read it out loud while Teneira stayed naked in bed, not wanting to ever move again.

"All hands to the Alienage, searching for the murderess Teneira Tabris, suspected of the most foul slaughter of three guardsmen, Lord Braden, Lord Jonaley, and Bann Vaughan Urien. She is believed to be hiding out somewhere in the city, but sources have assured us she will not stay away from the Alienage for long. Until that time the quarter is on lockdown, no elf is to exit, or enter, without the escort of a guard."

"They do have to get to work, after all," Teneira grumbled, "The dishes don't wash themselves."

She reluctantly put her feet to the floor and began pulling on her clothes – or rather Manda's clothes.

"Don't do this, Ten," Villais pleaded with her. He went to her and held her tight about her shoulders, preventing her from pulling her shirt over her head, "We can be at the harbor in two hours, we can sign on to a ship…"

"It's either I die or the Alienage burns to the ground before the week's out," Ten said, taking him gently, her hands on either side of his face, "Do you think they'll look for me forever? And how long do you think until the good folk of the city get a mind to invest in torches and pitchforks?"

"Did they rape you?" he asked, "Is that why you're so willing to throw your life away?"

"No," she said, "And even if they had, damage to my body is just that – damage to my body. My spirit would be quite intact, I assure you. No, love, this is my final duty to my people. Now let's go before they suspect something."

It was simultaneously the longest and shortest walk of her life. Every time she said something, she thought of something else that needed to be said.

"Make sure nobody goes near Shianni," she said. Then, "Let the Reverend Mother out. Nobody's going to be there to feed her, I don't think dad would really relish the task." She thought some more, "And make sure Soris doesn't run afoul of other guards, I imagine he'll be taking my post."

Her feet felt leaden as they walked through the city through the gates of the alienage. As they approached, a guard recognized Villais, and the great gate swung open, letting them into the district. Ten kept her eyes on the ground, but sensed a hundred shutters opening, and a hundred elves peeking out. In an instant, Soris was at her side, bruised, but in one piece. At his heels was Valora, her hair mussed from what must have been quite an epic wedding night, all things considered. The place was crawling with guards. An older man wearing a lieutenant's epaulets approached them, looking at her quizzically.

"Found her sleeping in a gutter outside the estate," Villais said, roughly shoving Teneira towards the arl's guard, "I hear she's wanted for something."

"Are you Teneira Tabris?" the guard asked her, looking at her not entirely unkindly.

"Yes," she said, "And yes, I did it. I killed them."

"You alone?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, me alone. I'll show you how I did it, too," she said. She kicked off one boot and showed him the second vial of poison she had stashed in there.

"Poison," one of the subordinate guards scoffed, "Typical cowardly elf."

"Yes, because it's so brave of big strong armed human men to gang-rape a five foot tall elf woman!" she retorted, spitting on the ground at his feet.

"You know what your confession means," Valendrian, who had appeared by her side along with Soris, said, "You know what you're doing, Teneira?"

"With all due respect, elder," she said, "I've always known what I'm doing." She looked at her cousin, and at her elder, and saw her father further off in the crowd, struggling to get to her, "Now, lieutenant, I'll thank you to take me to jail before I get lynched."

She noticed, then, for the first time, that the human man at Valendrian's hand was not a guard, but the same man who had been there the day before. He watched, silently, without judgment. She felt the irons clapped about her wrists, but somehow, felt free for the first time in her life.

The jail was about everything you'd expect a jail to be. She was the only woman in there, meaning they had to move the Elvish men in with the human men. She sat there on a wooden plank for awhile, wondering what would happen next. There would probably be a trial, which would be a farce – elves did not serve on juries – and then a sentencing, which considering the magnitude of her crime, would certainly be death, and she could only pray that it was death by beheading or hanging and not something more nefarious. Her family visited her. Cyrion, and Soris, and even Shianni, who had to be led sobbing from the building when one of the human men in the cell across the way catcalled her. Teneira reacted numbly, and found herself wishing on the second day of her confinement that they would just kill her already.

On the second day, a human man was lead to the cell beside her and locked in. Mostly the men came and went, cutpurses and brawlers, and one murderer who was quickly dispatched of. This man didn't brawl, though. His garb said that he was a bandit or something like it, the five o'clock shadow said that he was fully human, and the grin on his face said that he was having entirely too much fun observing the little elfin murderess through the bars.

"What're you in here for?" he asked, pushing his arms through the bars. Teneira backed up instinctively.

"I murdered the arl's son," she said, not looking him in the eye, "And if you try anything similar I can murder you, too."

The man gasped, "_You're _Teneira Tabris?" he exclaimed, "That's you? Well blimey! Respect, Miss Tabris, utmost respect for you."

She looked at him straight this time. He wasn't particularly tall for a human man. He would have been tall but not extraordinarily so, if he had been an elf. He had black hair and looked to be in his mid twenties, though he had enough scars for a man twice that.

"Daveth," he said, "The name's Daveth. I must say I do admire you!"

"Is that treason I heard?" a voice from the men's sell came. Teneira looked behind Daveth to see a larger human standing beside him, arms akimbo, "Are you actually congratulating the bitch as murdered the son of the arl?"

"I'm paying healthy respect for a five foot tall, hundred pound elf, who killed six men twice her size and barely had a scratch on her," Daveth replied, turning to square off against the bigger man, "What does it matter to me _who _she killed? Those are some respectable fighting skills!"

The bigger man hauled off to punch Daveth in the face. Quick as lightning, the smaller man dipped out of the way. From somewhere, he produced a small knife, and as the lumbering giant moved to strike at him again, he'd leapt on his back and was holding the blade to his throat. "That's enough, love," he said, "Now you're going to sit your oversized arse down on that plank over there. And you and I are going to be very, very good friends from now on. Leastways for two days, then they're going to hang me and I'll be out of your hair."

"You too?" Teneira asked as Daveth released the giant. Duly chastened, he returned to sit among the other prisoners and lick his wounded pride.

"Aye," he said, "Seems ol' Davy's gotten into a bit too much trouble over the last ten years or so, they've decided I'm better off doing a little jig on the end of a rope."

"Was it worth it?" she asked.

"Decidedly not," he said.

"Do they do all executions on the same day?" she asked.

"Yep," he said, "Say! I suppose we'll be dying by each other's sides! Isn't that romantic. Well, let me rephrase my answer, then. It was decidedly worth it, because I will get to spend my last few minutes jerking around like a fish by the neck next to a great warrior like yourself, Teneira Tabris. How does that make you feel?"

"Like I'm going to commit suicide before they get the chance to hang me next to the likes of you," she said, but let her voice and facial expression betray that she was joking, "And call me Ten. It's easier that way."

"Ten Tabris, I like it," he said.

"What'd you do to land in this fine establishment?" she asked.

"Cut the purse of a fine gentleman," he replied, "Such fine armor, I thought he would have had something good in there. Not to mention bragging rights for robbing such a fearsome-looking warrior. But, unfortunately, I was caught, and the guards ran me down. I knocked out three of them before they took me though, and me in me leathers, them in full plate armor!"

"What was in the purse?" she asked.

"Fat lot of nothing," he sighed, "Seems the fellow was a Grey Warden."

"Grey Warden?" Teneira asked, "What in the hell would a Grey Warden be doing here?"

"Maker only knows," Daveth said, "Maybe looking through the guard for someone competent enough to shine his shoes. Good luck with that."

Teneira chuckled, "Well I hope he succeeds, I hear the Grey Wardens only peek their heads out of their holes when there's a blight coming. Darkspawn." She shuddered. In storybooks they looked like men who had been burned within an inch of their lives and had their jaws broken so their mouths lolled slackly open. She hadn't been scared by many stories, but the tales of darkspawn had haunted her dreams since she was a child.

She heard a key turning in the lock to the outer door that separated the jail from the guards' building.

"Well it ain't execution day yet," Daveth said, "Must mean new meat!" He turned to see who was coming through the door. It was the jailer, a pockmarked, sallow fellow in his mid forties. Behind him was, to Ten's surprise, was the human man who had been talking to Valendrian on her wedding day. She took another look at him, trying to figure out what his game could possibly be.

"And there he is right now," Daveth murmured through the bars, "That's the Grey Warden I was talking about!"

"Oy, you, Daveth, you're free to go," the jailer commanded, "You too, Tabris."

He unlocked both of their cells, waving the other male prisoners off with a nasty looking dagger. Daveth exited his cell and stepped outside of it, behind the older man. Teneira stepped forward hesitantly, wondering what had happened, and if it was good fortune or ill that had brought this about. All this time the bearded human watched calmly, his face betraying nothing of what might be about to occur.

"My name is Duncan," he said, "I'm a Grey Warden. I've invoked the Right to Conscript on both of you. You'll be coming with me."

"Forgive me, Ser Duncan," Teneira said, keeping her eyes on the ground, "But I am a bit confused."

"I am not a Ser, Miss Tabris," Duncan said, "Knights serve kings. I serve no king. I am only Duncan. And you may look me in the eye, I promise that it will not offend me."

She turned her eyes upward, looking him in the eye. He was dark of complexion, but did not have black hair, but brown. A little like herself, she thought, all almost the same color. He was a large man, but did not look dangerous. On the contrary, something about him put her remarkably at ease.

"I am a Grey Warden, one of those charged with protecting the world from the Darkspawn. The ancient treaties give us the right to conscript those whom we need from."

"And, forgive me again, Duncan," Teneira asked, "What do you need with a murderer?"

"You may have killed a man, Miss," Duncan said gently, "But you are no murderer. Murder is a killing motivated by malice. You killed out of duty to your people. Incidentally, that is exactly what the Grey Wardens are charged with doing."

"And with all respect due, Duncan," she said, "Where the hell were you when they took Shianni and I to the arl's estate? Did you allow that happen to test my mettle?"

"I allowed nothing to happen," Duncan replied, "I had left the alienage by that time after having a short conversation with my old friend Valendrian. I asked about you. He informed me that you were about to be married."

"You must forgive me a third time, Duncan," Teneira said, "But I find it highly suspicious that you came to ask about me, and then found out I was to be married, and then within the day, I was taken and my husband killed."

"You poor child," Duncan said, reaching out and touching her hair, "I don't blame you for being suspicious. You have my deepest condolences for your husband and for what happened to your cousin, but I assure you I had nothing to do with it. Now, we must away, the road to Ostagar is long."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Teneira asked, "I have not given my consent."

"Your consent to an order of conscription is unnecessary. A blight is coming, Miss Tabris. Your desires are utterly irrelevant. However, I feel as though you will fit in well."

She sighed, and nodded. She had been thinking, over the past two days, about her impending doom and, despite her best efforts, had not managed to entirely resign herself to it. Die on the gallows, die at the end of a darkspawn sword. It mattered not to her anymore.

* * *

><p>Instead of the execution of Teneira the murderer and Daveth the cutpurse two days hence, the guard was mourning the death of Eddin Rasphander. It seems that, somehow, he'd been bitten by a black cattle adder while in the changing room at his guard post. How such a snake got into his spare uniform, nobody was quite sure.<p> 


	7. The Road to Ostagar

In the guard's locker room, Teneira buckled on the leather armor that was to be her uniform. She'd never worn armor before, and it felt strange against her skin. The set that Duncan had brought her fit very well, buckling tight under her arms and hardly constricting her breasts, which was something she'd heard women complain about. She felt a little better about going into a fight knowing that there was half an inch of leather between the enemy's blades and her. The armor had come with two daggers, each as long as her forearm, and a harness to sheathe them on her back. With her hair tied up and tucked under a leather cap, it was as though no trace of Ten the Alchemist remained. She looked dangerous. She _was _dangerous, she always had been – but her power had always relied on appearing harmless. Oddly enough, all armored in leather, she felt even more vulnerable.

Daveth walked in as she was pulling on her gloves, fingerless, intended to protect her hands while leave her fingers free. She flexed her hands, cracking her knuckles. She took her dagger out. She didn't know why Duncan had bought two – she was terribly clumsy with her left hand, and would probably do more harm than good. She brought it up to a fighting stance, holding it sideways like a knife, palm outward, hilt gripped in her first.

"You're going to be battling darkspawn, not knife-fighting with thugs," Daveth said. He took the blade from her, and gripped it properly. He swung it around a few times, "This is a good weapon. Should respect that."

"I've just realized," Ten admitted, "I don't know the first thing about this." Back in the arl's estate, she had been running on pure adrenaline. She hadn't actually had to fight properly, she had the advantage of surprise. Darkspawn would not be lulled into a false sense of security by her size or femaleness. The darkspawn cared not and would come at her with all of their fury.

"Aye," Daveth said, "But think of the alternative!" He pointed out the window where the gallows stood in the jailyard.

She fingered her neck, very happy that her vertebrae were intact, and nodded. She wasn't quite sure what to make of Daveth. He was human, to be sure, but he didn't talk to her like other human men. Neither, in fact, did Duncan. They seemed like an entirely different breed than Teneira was used to dealing with.

"The old man says we're heading out," Daveth said, "I'm not a prodigy, but I know my way around a dagger. I can show you a few of the ropes on the road there. It's a long journey to Ostagar." He looked uneasy at this last pronouncement.

She nodded, and caught a final glimpse of herself in the mirror before putting her dagger back in its sheathe, and meeting her companions outside the jail. She saw her father waiting there, and Soris, and Shianni, and elder Valendrian. Nobody was there to bid farewell to Daveth, and he waited uncomfortably by Duncan's side while Ten went to say her goodbyes.

"I had always hoped you would do great things," Cyrion said, taking his daughter by her shoulder, "I am grateful that the gallows won't claim you."

"Someone's got to fight darkspawn," she said, shrugging, "Might as well be me."

"Return to me, someday," he said, "When you've dealt with this threat."

"You have my word, dad," she said. She looked at the old man through new eyes, at that moment. Before her stint behind bars, she had never been away from him for more than a day. Even after she moved in with Shianni when her aunt died, it was two doors down from him, and her stall was across the street from his shop. He'd been a witness, a constant presence, to her rise to power in the alienage, and now… now he would watch her turn her back on Denerim, possibly for the last time.

"You've always been a woman of your word. I see I managed to teach you that much," Cyrion said, a slight smile crossing his features.

"Dad…" she said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, "I only wish I'd have been there to kill him myself. That bastard deserved it."

She laughed in shock at her father's uncharacteristic candidness and profanity. She wanted to tell him that Shianni had actually done the deed, had managed to avenge her own honor even broken and bleeding as she was, but she dared not. Anything that passed her lips, even to friendly ears, could put her cousin at risk. As such, neither Soris nor Shianni said anything about what had transpired in the arl's estate, but embraced her.

"Don't burn the place down while I'm gone," she said, turning to her cousins.

"We might not have to," Soris said, looking uneasily around, "I'm pretty sure there's a bunch of people eager to do it for us." Ten did the same, and saw that it was not only her family that had come to see her leave town. A dozen or so stony-faced citizens were staring at her with less than kindly expressions on their faces. She said nothing.

"It won't be the same without you," Shianni said, "I… I thank you for what you did."

"You would have done the same for me," Teneira said, "And someday you may have to. Take care of my shop for me, Shianni. I left a few sovereigns under my mattress…"

"Yes, I found them already," Shianni said, sheepishly, "I figured that the alienage was going to need another alchemist, and that Antivan bitch who taught you charges an arm and a leg! Now I'll just have to find myself another cattle adder…"

"Did something happen to the Reverend Mother?" Teneira asked.

"The guards came through and searched the house," Shianni said, "Their leader took the snake, cage and all. I only hope he let her go somewhere safe."

"Yes, like the locker room down at the barracks," Ten said, "I heard our old friend Eddin Rasphander found himself on the wrong end of some fangs there."

"I'm sure it was just an accident," Soris chirped loudly.

"Lass…" Duncan's deep voice said. He put one gauntleted hand on her shoulder, "We must away. The road to Ostagar is long and time is of the essence."

"Well," Teneira said, "It's been fun."

"Return to me," Cyrion said again.

"I will," she replied. She turned her back on her family and followed Duncan and Daveth into the bright morning. She had been outside Denerim's walls only a few times, once on an excursion to the Bannorn to dig up the herbs that now populated the small plot of land behind her house, another time to go hunting for cattle adders at a farmer's barn on the outskirts. The world outside the city seemed darker, bleaker than it had when she had seen it before. It was summer, but autumn was on the wind. She trusted that the Grey Wardens would provide her with what she needed.

As they left the city, the three of them and a packhorse, she saw first on the horizon, and then caught up with, a great host of men. They stretched out into the distance as far as she could see. They stayed about half a mile behind, but never out of sight of the marching soldiers.

"Who are they?" she asked, not recognizing their insignia.

"Those are soldiers in the service of Teyrn Loghain MacTir," Duncan said, "We could certainly travel more swiftly than an army, but there is safety in numbers in these dark days. Should any darkspawn or others who wish us ill come upon us, they will be fighting these men as well."

"The queen's father," Teneira said, a little awed, "The man who drove the Orlesians back over the Mountains. This is his army?"

"Aye, the same," Duncan said, "You've been well schooled. All of that happened well before you were born."

"My father is illiterate," Teneira said, "And yet I never wanted for books."

"Your father is a wise man," Duncan said, "You have inherited much from him, as well as from Adaia."

"How do you know my mother's name?" Teneira asked, looking up at the Grey Warden in alarm.

Duncan chuckled, "I once came asking a favor of the arlessa of the alienage, nearly twenty years ago. I wanted her to join our ranks, but she would have none of it."

"But you did not invoke the Right of Conscription?" Teneira observed, "As you did with me?"

"I did not," Duncan said, "Your mother was very brave, but very hotheaded. To have brought her there against her will would have been…"He paused for a moment to consider his next words carefully, stroking his beard, "Inadvisable. Considering her temper."

"What do you mean?" Teneira asked.

"She would have fought us the whole way," Duncan said, "I saw the woman beat a man bloody for looking at her the wrong way, in front of half the alienage, in the middle of the street. From what I have observed and heard of you, I would not imagine you doing something similar."

"No," Teneira said, a little disturbed by his description of Adaia. To hear her father talk, Adaia had been a talented rogue who had gotten herself into trouble through little fault of her own. Duncan spoke of a woman with no self-control.

"And considering how she died…" Duncan sighed.

"How did she die?" Teneira asked, interrupting him. She had very little memory of her mother. She knew that she had died when Ten was nearly a baby, and that it had been premature – she was only a girl of nineteen. Cyrion refused to speak of his late wife's death. But… he had never remarried. It was clear that Adaia had been a woman whom he had loved, but also feared. In fact, nobody talked about it. Her aunt Pali wouldn't give her a straight answer before she died, and Soris's parents claimed not to know.

"Oh dear, you don't know?" Duncan said, raising his eyebrows, "She challenged one of Arl Kendall's knights, on Ser Edric, to a duel. He had been having an affair with her younger sister, you see, and she fought the duel in her honor."

"Shianni's mother? Pali?" Teneira asked in disbelief, "She died fighting for her?"

"The same," Duncan said, "She fought bravely, and wounded the knight sorely, but in the end, she was killed. She died an honorable death, Teneira, but an unnecessary one. Pali loved the knight, but could no longer look at him after he slew Adaia. Ser Edric may have walked away from that duel, but nobody won."

"Pretty useless for an elf woman to love a human man," Teneira commented, "It's not as though he would have married her, or given her a status higher than his concubine. She was just looking out for her sister's well-being."

"Perhaps you are right," Duncan said, "Then again, perhaps he would have treated her fairly. The world is not as black and white as all that."

"Hmph," Teneira snorted, " I'm sure you are a very wise man, ser, but I assure you, there are a few things that I know plenty about, and one of them is that it's very hard to see someone as an equal when everything around you insists that you are not. And, if you'll forgive my treading into a territory that I know very little about, it seems to me that love must be a relationship between equals."

Duncan graced her observation with a slight smile, and walked ahead, making it clear that the conversation was over. She found this attitude frequently among humans. They would say with their words that they didn't really believe that elves were savages or that the alienage was the only place with them, but the minute someone actually called them out, they would change the subject or end the conversation. Duncan was clearly not categorically against elves serving in the same capacity as their human counterparts, after all, had he not taken her from the foot of the gallows and equipped her with a set of blades that would make a guardsman envious? And yet… when asked to face up to the things that his own comrades had actually done to hers, he became uncomfortable and did not want to discuss it. _Typical entitled humans, _she thought, _Benefiting from a system that oppresses us, and failing to even acknowledge that it does so! He probably thinks he knows me because he had an elvish nanny growing up and an elvish woman cleaned his sheets!_

"My mum died when I was young too," Daveth offered. He had evidently been walking close behind and listening to the whole thing.

Teneira snorted, feeling quite ill-disposed towards humans in general at this point. She supposed she should be grateful for the kindness these two had shown her, but felt a bit put out all the same.

"Was she defending her sister's honor too?" she asked.

"Nah," Daveth said, "She was defending me. From my dad."

Teneira looked up at him, regretting he words, "Your dad killed your mum?"

He nodded, "People are shit sometimes, you know that as well as I."

"I'm sorry," she said.

Daveth shrugged, "He actually lived not too far from the ruins of Ostagar, where we're going. I grew up there – a small village in the Korcari wilds."

"Is he still there?"

"Village fell to darkspawn," Daveth said, "I doubt he survived. He had a lame leg and couldn't win a fight with a grown man if his life depended on it. That's why he reserved his fists for his children."

Teneira nodded, knowing the type of man he was talking about. The man who was weaker than his fellows and took it out on the only ones around weaker than him. She'd spent her life surrounded by them. Her father had never raised a hand to her, but it was a barely disguised secret that elvish women and children suffered only a little less violence at the hands of their own husbands and fathers than at employers. Of course, humans liked to point to it as evidence of the elves' inferiority. It wasn't as though human homes were free from it, though, as Daveth had pointed out.

"I didn't mean to say that elves have a monopoly on being treated like shit," she said.

"Well I should hope not, for we both know that that's not true," Daveth chuckled, "Happy people don't wind up here, Ten. I hear things about the rites you have to go through to become a Grey Warden, and it's not pretty."

"I was happy," Ten said. She sighed, "Before it all… To think, how things could have gone differently. Only a few days ago, things could have been much, much different."

"Aye," Daveth said. He glanced down at her hand, and the ring on the third finger.

"You've been looking at that since you showed up in the cell," Teneira said.

"Well," he said, "The stories they've been telling, about the revenge of the bride… I just… he died, didn't he?"

"They're probably true," Teneira said, "And yes, he did die."

"Why do you wear it, then?"

"I have a respect for many things, Daveth, and one of them is that for however short of time, I was a married woman. It would be a dishonor to my husband's memory for me to carry on like he had never come into my life – especially because he died saving it." She thought, guiltily, of the night she had spent with the guardsman. Or, rather, she tried to feel guilty about it. Feeling guilty was what a good woman would have done. Then again, a good woman would not have spent the night of her husband's death in the arms of another man. The only negative feeling she could summon was sadness that she would probably never see Villais again. She felt a little sick, lying like that to someone she was supposed to respect, but couldn't see the value in telling the truth in this particular instance. She could lie until the sun went down to anyone else, but she was always compulsively honest with Soris, Shianni, and the others she trusted with her business.

"I think I'm glad to have you along in a fight," Daveth said, "If you're so loyal to those you barely know, but are told you are supposed to be loyal to."

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," Teneira said, "Though I don't know how well-advised it is. I'm half the size of most of these soldiers, let alone whatever demonic creatures the Arch Demon has sent up to slaughter us."

"Bullshit," Daveth said, "I'm not a big man. I'm five foot eight on a good day, barely taller than your average male elf. You saw me bring down a six foor four three hundred pounder in the jail cell, and that was with nothing but my pocket knife and wits. You've got wits, Ten, and so you're dangerous. Come, we'll be stopping for the night soon."

"And my legs will be too sore to do anything but curl up in a ball and cry for my daddy," she said, "So much walking!"

"C'mon, soldier!" Daveth said, clapping her on the back, "Onward!"

They did stop not to long after, when the sun was going down. They were at the top of a hill in the shadow of some Tevinter ruins, while Loghain's army marched further into the valley where there was more space. The horse was let out to graze, and tents were unpacked. Teneira went out in search of water, which she found in the form of a small river that wound its way through the rocks. She also found a large quantity of deathroot, a poisonous plant that she had to coax into growing in her small garden plot off the alleyway. She gathered a few of the buds where the poison was concentrated, and returned with them and a pot full of water. Duncan produced a few potatoes from somewhere in his pack, and Daveth went out in search of game.

"I certainly hope you're not putting those in our food," Duncan said.

"Of course not," Teneira said, "But you never know when you're going to need it."

"There's a mortar and pestle and some empty flasks in the brown leather satchel over there," Duncan said, gesturing to the pack saddle, which indeed had a brown leather satchel hanging from it.

"How thoughtful," Ten said, genuinely surprised. She went in and found what Duncan had said was there, a stone mortar and pestle, which she used to grind the buds, and a flask, one of which she filled with water and the crushed buds, and sat in the cinders of the campfire to boil. The buds immediately released their toxin, which was of a purple color, "Coat your blade with it, any wound will bite twice as deep. Put it in with an explosive agent, it will blind everyone standing within six feet of where you throw the flask." She wiped her hands thoroughly. While she was doing so, she felt the familiar cold touch of a blade at the back of her neck.

"I think Daveth is testing you," Duncan said, looking over her shoulder.

She could not move back. Forward was the fire. He prodded her a bit with his blade. She reached down slowly and grabbed handful of cool ash from the edge of the fire. She braced herself. _One… two… _on three she whirled, throwing the ash into the rogue's face. He stepped back, blinded, but had the good sense not to drop his blade. She kicked him in the shin, unfortunately protected by leather, and scrambled to draw her own blades.

The ashes cleared from his vision, he swiped at her once, twice. She ducked and evaded, and eventually did what Soris had always done in a fight, and went for his knees. Blades forgotten, she barreled into him below his center of gravity, and he toppled over onto the grass. She did not have the strength to make him stay down, but if she put all of her weight behind it, she might be able to.

No luck. He shoved her off him, and she went down on her back where she could not grab her blade. She tried vainly to use her feet to get him off her, but he had her quite securely pinned within five minutes.

"All right, all right, I yield," she said.

He chuckled and let her up.

"I bet you anything darkspawn don't fight like that," she said grumpily.

"You'd be surprised," Duncan said, "Still, not bad for a beginner. You have the instinct. We'll work on technique as we move along. Anyway, you ought to eat something. Tomorrow we have far to walk, and your legs are going to hurt."

Teneira sighed and joined her companions at the fire. The road to Ostagar was long indeed.


	8. The Shadow of the Wild

The journey passed without remark. They moved mostly over the vast expanse of the Bannorn, and then down through the Southron Hills and Hinterlands. The landscape would stay the same for days at a time, and then change all in an hour, something which Teneira found a little unnerving. By the time they reached the ruined fortress of Ostagar, its gray towers reaching into the hazy sky of the Korcari wilds, she felt as though her life in the Alienage was a lifetime ago.

"You know, if you had told me last month that I would be travelling through the nethers of Ferelden in the company of two grown human men, and the back of a hundred more, I would have called you insane," Ten said to Daveth as they started down a long hill. They could see the ruin at the bottom, atop a cliff over a river that was further down still, "It's been… instructive."

"I'm glad to represent my race and gender in a way that pleases you, Arlessa," Daveth chuckled, "No, I've no doubt that there's twenty or more pigs in the host ahead of us that wouldn't think twice about rape and murder. Isn't it a comfort that you now know how to defend yourself without half a dram of poison in your bosom?"

"Well of course, Ser Knight," Teneira said, ribbingly.

"And of course they wouldn't dare. I'd gut them all like fish," he said.

"It feels good not to be afraid," she said, and realized once the words were past her lips how true they were.

"Well don't get used to it," he said, "The war's coming. I hear darkspawn are scarier than all us scary human men put together."

"Then perhaps I won't feel guilty about killing them all and wearing their ears as a necklace," Teneira said.

"This is Ostagar," Duncan said, clearing his throat loudly and interrupting her gleeful macabreness, "The Tevinter Imperium built it long ago to prevent Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. If the Maker be kind, it will shield us against a different foe. We are among a very small group of Grey Wardens in Ferelden at this time, and this is where the bulk of the horde will show itself."

"Well thanks for the history lesson, certainly wouldn't have been prepared to fight without it," Daveth muttered under his breath.

"Your impertinence is unbecoming, Daveth," Duncan said sternly, but his expression was gentle, and he was silent a long moment, "I was once saved from the gallows, I suppose I behaved much in the same way, once. Before the battle, you will need to go through a ceremony known as the Joining. We have several days before the horde is expected to arrive. There will be much to do."

Teneira wondered at what must have happened to turn Daveth into a man like Duncan. Although, she imagined, she would probably be in Daveth's company for the rest of their lives – as long as that was – and would have time to observe.

They had made it to the first bit of Ostagar, the arches that surrounded the still-standing Tower of Ishaal. The main camp lay over a high bridge over the rushing river far below. She felt a little queasy – the bridge dated from the days of the Tevinter Imperium and she was not entirely sure how much longer it would want to be standing. Not afraid precisely. She had resolved, somewhere on the road, perhaps the time that she had finally beat Daveth in a duel, that she was done with fear. It was a Grey Warden's task to defeat the darkspawn. They had neither husbands nor children – only constant war, war on the surface wherever the blight may lead, and a final, mortal conflict in the deep roads beneath the dwarven city of Orzammar. Perhaps Duncan had saved her from the gallows, but her doom was just as assured as if her corpse were in a gibbet in Denerim. Then again, perhaps if she happened to take a few darkspawn down with her, it wouldn't be that bad.

They approached the camp from the east. Sentries stood on guard, though there were so many holes in the walls, she was not sure why they were guarding that particular gap over the others. The camp itself was a sight to be seen, colorful wool tents dotting the small space. Ten guarded her eyes, not to appear like a wide-eyed child, taking it all in, but she could not resist letting her gaze linger on the circle of mages, standing but limp, as though being cradled by some great invisible hands. They eyes were rolled back in their heads, and the materials of the world swirled above them as though they were bending existence itself.

"They are in the Fade," a kindly voice came from behind her. She turned to see an older woman, probably not yet out of her fifties, but her hair snowy white and her skin so pale it was nearly translucent. She was dressed in the robes of a member of the Circle, and was probably high ranking given the intricacy of the embroidery on her robes, "Their spirits have left their bodies."

"How are they standing? They look as though they are asleep," Teneira said.

"They are and they aren't. We all enter the Fade when we sleep, but mages, with the proper dose of lyrium, may do so while they are awake," the woman said, "It is a dangerous business, for the Fade is a place of spirits – not all of them benevolent."

"Are you a mage?" Ten asked, "Why aren't you in there with them?'

"Yes, I am," the mage replied, "My name is Wynne, of the Circle of Magi. I am a healer by trade. Just as warriors may wield a sword, or a mace, or an axe, a mage may wield many types of magic. There are shapechangers, and conjurers, and… well you get the idea. When I was your age, I might have entered into the fade as they are doing, but it is taxing on the spirit, and my talents are better served elsewhere. What about you, dear? It seems you've just arrived. Are you here to serve Loghain's men?"

"Serve?" Teneira asked, turning to the mage, "I'm afraid to ask what you mean by that."

"Oh, nothing untoward!" the mage exclaimed, "I apologize, my dear, I just thought…"

"So you meant laundry?" Ten said, bristling.

"Well… I mean…" the mage's pale skin blushed rosy, "I hear such things about… your kind, outside of the Circle."

"Outside of the Circle?"

"I have lived within the walls of the Circle for most of my life. The only elves I encountered were those who showed magical talent. We did not see a difference between elves and humans in the Circle, but when they came, they brought their anger, their bitterness from the outside world. They said that outside the Circle, elves were couriers, or servants or…"

"Prostitutes," Teneira said, "You were asking if I was a prostitute." She let the older mage squirm there for a moment, enjoying her newfound power. There was a time when she enjoyed watching people twist, but she had realized at some point that the only humans she could skewer like that were those who had shame in the first place. If this Wynne had been like Bann Vaughan or Eddin Rasphander, she would have just said 'Yes, I thought all of you elf women were whores,' and then perhaps laughed derisively. But this Wynne didn't. She was embarrassed for an insult she quite likely did not intend to utter. "I am not. I am a recruit of the Grey Wardens. I am here to fight the darkspawn, just like you."

Wynne's face went even redder, "I apologize. I had no idea."

"I suppose the armor didn't quite clue you in," said Ten, resentfully.

"You know," Wynne said softly, "It seems as though I was right about one point, about how unkind the world is to elves. You remind me of someone I knew once, an apprentice of mine. I hope that your master Duncan is gentler than I was. I apologize for whatever hurt you suffered to bring you here."

Teneira twisted the wedding ring on her finger, and dropped her gaze. "And I apologize for my tone," she said, "It was unfair of me. I ought to go, rejoin my companions."

"Maker keep you," Wynne said.

"And you as well."

She found Duncan and Daveth by a great roaring fire, along with a third man, a burly, balding thing nearly six and a half feet tall, with a longsword on his back that would have stood taller than Teneira if he'd stuck it in the ground.

"This is Ser Jory, a knight in the service of the Teyrn of Highever," Duncan said, "He will completing the Joining with you and Daveth."

"Well met," the giant said, extending a hand larger than a dinner plate to shake. Teneira did so, though she was afraid he would lift her clean off the ground by her hand. He did not do so, and she was surprised that his hand was as soft as a gentleman's. Unlike Daveth, he had no scars, though he looked to be on the far side of thirty.

"My name is Teneira Tabris," she said.

"Are you Dalish?" asked Jory.

"No," she said, "I'm from Denerim."

"Ah," Jory said, clearly disappointed, "I've always been so fascinated with the Dalish. Had cook run away to be with them two years ago! Such a scandal."

"You had a cook," Daveth observed.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Jory asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Daveth said, winking at Jory, "It's just… if she'd rather be wandering the forest with the Dalish than cooking your meals, I'd have to wonder just what was in your food over the time she was in your employ."

_He's allying himself with me, _thought Teneira, _He's human, but he thinks he's with me, doesn't he! Clearly has more in common with me than him… I suppose if there were any elvish lordlings they'd be all up in Jory's arse. _She laughed behind her hand, not wanting to appear unseemly. Looking around, the assembled forces were about a quarter female, not including the mages, which were evenly split, and only the mages had any elvish members. She was clearly in a minority, with only Daveth and Duncan to protect her.

"Duncan! Well met, old friend!" a young man's voice exclaimed. Teneira looked up, alarmed to see a familiar face striding towards her atop a set of massive, shining armor. She instinctively dropped her gaze, and then found herself yanked to her knees by a huge hand around her arm. To her left and right, Her thoughts raced, not hearing the conversation between the two humans as she tried to place where she had seen that face before. Beside her, Daveth reached into his pocket and tossed a gold sovereign on the ground.

"God lord that's the king!" she whispered furiously, seeing the same face etched on the coin as was standing before them.

"Damn right that's the king!" Daveth said.

Of course, she knew the king would be there. Just like she knew that he lived not more than five miles away from her house in Denerim. That didn't mean that in camp of five thousand – or a city of two million – she ever expected to lay eyes on him in person, much less have him approach the very small group she was a part of to have a chat.

"Oh, come now! Get up! Can't fight darkspawn on your knees!"

She felt herself being born up just as she'd been borne down by Ser Jory.

"Ah, Ser Jory!" exclaimed King Cailin. Teneira forced herself to look him in the face. What struck her first was how _young _he was – thirty if a day. She had grown used the images of old King Maric, not old per se, but hardened and scarred and not looking like a beardless teenage boy. Cailin was tall, not nearly as tall as the giant Jory, but over six feet, and possessed of fine features that had clearly never seen battle or anything like it. He was clapping Jory on the shoulders, congratulating him on his wife's pregnancy. Teneira filed that bit of information away for later.

"And what's your name?" he asked, turning his attention to Daveth.

"Daveth, Sire," Daveth said, "I hail from Arnthorn, in the Korcari Wilds." Teneira snickered inwardly at how he was leaving out some very important things that had happened between him leaving Arnthorn and arriving at Ostagar. Being a professional criminal in Denerim, for example, and being rescued from certain execution.

"Ah, my condolences," King Cailin said, "I heard the bad news but a few days ago."

"Aye," Daveth said, "A sad story. But the darkspawn shan't advance any further, no sir, not if I have anything to say about it!"

_Kiss-arse, _Teneira thought, but then, she couldn't know how she would react when the king's blue gaze fell on her. It turned out that she would not have long to wonder, for after a perfunctory conversation with Daveth, he turned to her.

"And you, you look familiar!" he said. He furrowed his brow, staring at her face as she would have stared at his if she were only a little braver, "You're the elf that murdered Bann Vaughan Kendall!" he exclaimed. He didn't sound angry at all, it was as though he were meeting a celebrated poet or painter, utterly delighted to be shaking the hand of someone famous.

"Sire, I'm not a murderer," she said.

"No? I'm sorry, it's a little hard to tell you apart sometimes…"

"No, your majesty, you are right that I killed Bann Vaughan. But I did not murder him," she said, remembering the words Duncan had told her the day he had gotten her from her cell. She had lost her fear, and gained something else. Courage? Bravery? Foolishness? She fell silent. The practical part of her head was screaming at her to shut up, but she found that she couldn't. She cleared her voice, reciting what the Warden Commander had told her, "Murder is killing for malice. I did not kill out of malice. Justice and the safety of my people demanded that I take Vaughan's life."

"And a philosopher too! How cunning!" the king laughed, "And pray tell me, what did Bann Vaughan do to deserve your steel?"

"He raped my cousin," she said, "And had my husband and one of my bridesmaids murdered."

"Oh, that _is_ unpleasant," Cailin said, looking a bit put out, "Yes, I suppose I'd have done the same in your shoes. All the same, good to have you hear fighting darkspawn, doubt your shoes would fit the hangman's boy anyway." He stepped back, taking in all three recruits, "Very well! Best of luck to you three, for your Joining. I imagine we will meet again before the coming battle!" He gave them a small nod, turned, and left.

Teneira took a deep breath. She wasn't aware how tight she had been holding herself until she relaxed.

"Quite a display there, wasn't it," Jory commented, "Just announcing to the king that you murdered an Arl's son! He's supposed to _trust _the Grey Wardens, not think they're going to stab him in the back!"

"He recognized me," Teneira said, "Was I supposed to deny it?"

"You didn't have to go all… justifying yourself like that," Jory said, wrinkling his nose, "We've all done some bad things, but it almost sounded like you were bragging."

"Statements like that, Ser Jory, make me wonder what you did to make your cook flee for the Dalish!" Teneira retorted.

"How _dare _you!" Jory demanded. All in a flash, his sword and Teneira's daggers were free from their scabbards.

"That's right, Jory, I dare you, I _fucking _dare you!" she snarled, darting back and forth, showing him that while he dwarfed her, she could outmaneuver him like a wild pony could run circles around a large packhorse.

"Stop this!" Duncan exclaimed, striding between them, "Sheathe your blades, this is madness! Jory, go sit yourself over there. Teneira, go find Alistair, and don't come back until you've found him and your temper has cooled!"

"Who's Alistair?" asked Teneira, secretly grateful that Duncan had stopped the fight before it had started.

"Another Warden," Duncan replied, "He was northeast, taking a message for a mage, the last I saw. Get out of here!"

She turned and left, still half fuming. She headed northeast, past the kennels. A Mabari war hound sat curled in the corner of one of the pens, but leapt to his feet and chased her as she walked by the fence, barking excitedly. When she walked away, it lay down again and shut up. Past the kennels, she passed gibbet cages, a makeshift infirmary, and an impromptu service being held by a Chantry priest.

"Care for the Maker's blessing, little sister?" the priest asked, smiling benevolently, "The Maker shows us the way, in every step of our lives."

"Did the Maker tell you to take our lands and slaughter our people, _shem_?" she snapped, still sore, and certainly not in the mood for the Chantry's pious bullshit at that particular moment. She spat on the ground to make her point, and turned on her heel to continue about her business.

"Blasphemy!" the priest exclaimed, putting her hand over her mouth. Ten could have sworn she saw at least one of the congregation snicker softly as she stalked away.

She found herself in the northeastern corner of the camp, which was deserted, but had a good view of the coming night over the cliffs. She had her pipe and a pouch of fine Orlesian tobacco she and Daveth had gone in for in the last town. She packed it, and lit it from one of the many braziers which lit the place. She sat herself on a rock, puffing away. She'd become unused to humans like Jory on the long road from Denerim. Duncan and Daveth treated her as an equal, and accepted her version of his story without question. She should have known that not everyone in Ostagar would feel as they did. _Foolish lass._

"You know that stuff will make your teeth yellow," a male voice said. She didn't look up.

"Unsolicited comments on the habits of others will cause your teeth to be knocked out if you're not careful," she replied.

"I was trying to get it away from you, if you were wondering," the man said, completely unperturbed by her hostility. He sat down beside her, and she handed him the pipe. He took a long drag and handed it back, "So what happened to you? You look just how I feel."

She looked over at him. He was human, the slight beard would have given that away if the ears and height hadn't, and probably around her age or a little older. He wore the armor of a Templar, but didn't look like the Templars that had been guarding the mage camp where she had met Wynne.

"Boy trouble," she said dismissively, "Why, what happened to you?"

"Mage trouble. I don't exactly work for them anymore, but they sure think they own me," he sighed, "And I bow and scrape like I was taught to, even when every fiber of my being is telling me to deck him across the face."

"World's full of rat bastards, isn't it," she said, blowing a smoke ring. The tobacco was starting to calm her down.

"Well yes, I suppose you could put it that way," he said. She handed him the pipe and he took another puff.

"Has anyone ever told you you look just like King Cailin?" she asked. The observation had just struck her, but it was true, there was a bit of a resemblance.

"Oh, don't be silly," he said, joking, but she could sense that she had made him a little uncomfortable, "You elves probably think all us humans look alike."

"You caught me!" she said, "Couldn't tell a pageboy from a Teyrn if my life depended on it! So, you're a templar, but you're not with the mages? Or you are with the mages and don't like they way they're treating you?" she said.

"Oh, I'm not a templar," he said, "I'm a Grey Warden."

"Are you now," she said. _Now I know something you don't know. _She felt the old familiar safety in knowing something about another that he did not know about her, "Are you going to save us all from the darkspawn?"

"Well, I hope so. Certainly better than the alternative, seeing as we're supposed to be on the front lines and all," he said, "We're getting new recruits. That's always interesting. See which ones croak during the joining."

"What's the joining?" she asked. She turned her body towards him, flirting, wanting more information. _Croak? Nobody said anything about croaking. And I certainly hope he means 'turning into a toad' and not dying._

"It's what makes you a Warden," he said, "Can you keep a secret?"

He didn't seem to register that that's what she was doing, but the boy seemed to be an open book, and all her guile was unnecessary.

"And who would I tell?" she asked.

"They make you drink darkspawn blood," he whispered.

Teneira jumped to her feet, "You're joking, right?"

"What the… well, yes, it's disgusting, but it's not like anyone's making _you…_" his voice trailed off, "Oh no, I've really stepped in it haven't I? You're the…"

"Yes I am," she said. She coughed, retching a little. She dumped the contents of her pipe on the ground and stomped on it, suddenly not in the modo, "That's… that's disgusting."

"Oh Maker's breath I'm an idiot," Alistair said, rubbing the back of his neck, "You weren't supposed to _know _about it beforehand… that's what I get for trying to impress a pretty girl…"

"This is how you flirt with a… all right, well we're not going to address that part right now, but… darkspawn blood? _Really?_"

"If you tell the others beforehand, Duncan will have my head," he said, "And believe me, you don't want that. There are few of us as it is. Anyway, once you've been recruited, there's no choice. We have a duty to cut you down should you refuse."

"You're lucky the two of the three recruits I care about don't have any choice," she said, "And that I am one of the two recruits I care about." She sighed, and shook her head, "Anyway, unless there's another one of you wandering around camp telling Order secrets to every woman who happens by him, you must be Alistair. I've been sent to find you."

"Oh, you're sneaky," he said, "You knew exactly who I was from the moment I… all right, let's call it even. I never divulged any secrets, and you never threw yourself shamelessly at me to get me to talk!"

"I did no such thing!" she exclaimed indignantly as they made their way back to Duncan's camp.

"And neither did I!" he said, "Psssht… telling me I look like King Cailin. You know the Maker frowns upon flattery!" He chuckled at his own joke, "You're entirely too cunning to be a proper Warden. You know we're supposed to be very serious! And stodgy! You're not _nearly _stodgy enough." He babbled on like this as they walked. She played along at first, but ran out of good-natured guffaws.

_Darkspawn blood. Drinking darkspawn blood. That's what made all those Mabaris sick, I'll wager. And they mean to feed it to us! Oh Maker be good, we're all going to die…_


	9. And Don't Soil Your Pants

The Grey Warden camp was grim when she returned with Alistair. Jory was still sulking, and Daveth was sitting by himself, drinking out of a bottle of whiskey he'd secured somewhere. Teneira sat herself beside him and seized the bottle from him, taking a tear-inducing gulp and managing to swallow it without coughing.

"Have you calmed yourself?" Duncan asked like a stern schoolmaster.

"No worries, Ser, few more sips of this and everyone will be my best friend," Teneira replied, taking another swig of whiskey. Duncan clearly did not approve, but he said nothing as she and Daveth finished the bottle.

"Maker's breath," muttered Alistair, sitting down with them, "You'll drink dwarven whiskey like mother's milk, but the thought of darkspawn blood makes you gag?"

"And who're you?" Daveth asked, sounding like a little boy saying 'This is _my _friend and _my _whiskey and you are _not_ part of the club.'

"Alistair," he said, extending a hand to shake. Daveth did so, warily, and offered him whiskey.

"There's a fellow in the Wardens, camped out down below," Alistair said, taking the bottle, "Who we had drinking three ales an hour, and he lasted all night while the rest of us slept beneath the tables."

"Sounds like a true hero," Teneira said, only a little sarcastically.

"Well I'm not him," Alistair said, and took a swig. This turned him into a spluttering, redfaced mess in seconds.

"Sure and you're not," Daveth replied.

"What's gotten into him?" Alistair asked, gesturing at Jory with his chin.

"He's on his monthly cycle," said Ten, "It's quite all right, he'll be back to himself in a few days."

Daveth laughed, but Alistair looked very confused, "What's she mean, monthly cycle?"

"You know," she said, chuckling, "A woman's period?"

"A what?" Alistair asked, positively baffled.

"You're how old and nobody's taught you about the birds and the…" Daveth began, but was interrupted by Duncan striding over.

"Wardens! Now that you are all here, I must give you your tasks. I would appreciate you being sober for this bit, Teneira and Daveth." Daveth put away the whiskey sheepishly. Teneira could already feel it pulsing through her veins, "Tomorrow morning, you will set forth into the Korcari wilds, with these." He held up three small vials for them to see. "You will slaughter any darkspawn you come across, and you will collect their blood in these, and return them to me. While you are there, you will also seek out a ruin of a Grey Warden fortress built in these parts long ago against the previous blights. While the fortress has crumbled, there should be within the ruin a vault containing ancient treaties signed with various factions throughout Ferelden. While it is my hope that calling these favors due will not be necessary, we must do all that is possible to prepare for the coming blight. Do you understand me?"

"::hic:: Yes, Ser," Teneira said.

"Yes, Ser," mumbled Daveth.

"Yes, Ser!" barked Jory.

"I will leave you to take your rest tonight," Duncan said, "But first…" He stooped, and picked up the bottle from where Daveth had lain it on the ground. He took a great swig, swallowed it down as though it were no rougher than water, and returned the bottle, "Good night." He turned and walked off towards the king's tent, presumably to have an audience.

"Jory," Ten said, feeling sorry for the big man, sitting all alone, "Come over here and drink with us. I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"I don't trust you," he said, walking over, "Either of you. You're both criminals."

"Most of us are," Alistair said, "Well, I'm not, and apparently you're not, but you'd be surprised at how many cut-purses and bandits form our ranks."

"Comforting," Jory muttered, "When Duncan recruited me he talked like it was some great honor, and now I find myself in the company of a couple of lowlifes from the streets of Denerim and some renegade templar. That's what you are, is it not?"

"In a manner of speaking," Alistair said, "But whether you like it or not, you're stuck with us. So you might as well have a dram!"

"Wise man, that," Daveth said, "Come on, no need to make that face, we're all brothers now. And a sister." He put his arm around Teneira's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, "From a cell in Denerim to a soldier's camp to fighting the darkspawn, I couldn't ask for a better one!"

"Daveth I think you're drunk already," Ten said, but she put her arm around him as well. There was comfort in being physically close to people. She knew that she shouldn't quite trust Daveth yet, but he'd given her no reason not to. Daveth was not Vaughan, and Ostagar was not the alienage. Alistair wasn't the wisest of men by a long shot, but he was friendly, and did not look down on her as Jory seemed to.

After some time, even Jory joined them, evidently finding it better to drink with people he didn't like than sit and sulk alone. By the time night had set in earnest, the four of them all had their arms around each other, swaying back and forth and howling popular drinking songs off-key and loudly. Within an hour, they had all collapsed in a snoring pile on the floor of their shared tent.

She awoke before the rest of them, feeling like an idiot. How careless she'd been. Taking stock of herself, she was still fully clothed, her weapons were where she had left them. There was a worn path down the ravine to the river that flowed between the two cliffs that held the ruins. She crept down there to wash, something she hadn't done in much too long. Drinking always felt her feeling dirty, as though there were a film over her skin. The water of the river was cold, clear, and moved swiftly enough that she was reluctant to go further into the water for fear that the current would sweep her away. She sat down in the shallow water so that it covered her head. She dipped her head underwater and massaged her scalp, trying to scrape some of the grime from her hair.

She surfaced and went to the shore. The sun was up and beginning to warm the rocks by the water. She slipped on her small clothes and stretched out on one. Nobody had come to look for her yet. Lying back, she heard a whimper. She got up and, still barefoot, crept in the direction of the sound. As she drew closer, the whining grew higher, and she saw, all collapsed in a pile, a Mabari warhound. Her only experience with the breed was those times during riots when the guards brought them in to intimidate and corral the residents of the alienage. She'd seen one maul an elvish child badly once, and more than a few of her neighbors had been bitten deep enough to leave scars. This one, though, was injured, or sick. She'd heard of dogs who had bitten darkspawn in battle and ingested too much of the blood. They would sicken, and crawl away somewhere to die.

"Are you going to take off one of my arms if I come closer?" she asked the dog. She'd heard that the dogs could understand human speech and obey almost to the word, which made it all the more horrific when the guards set them on civilians. Perhaps another breed would have let instinct take over and kill a person, but Mabaris would never do so, meaning that every time one mauled an elf, his master had instructed him to do so.

But this dog didn't seem to have a master. It whined piteously and looked up at her with large brown eyes and rolled onto its belly in a show of submission. As it did, she saw that the dog had no visible injuries. To her surprise, the animal let her examine it closely without showing any signs of hostility.

"Well I'm not a healer," she said, "But I know one thing to do when you've eaten something that doesn't agree with you…" She went through the small satchel of poisons she'd collected. Most of them were made from various plants that would make a wound worse if you poked it into someone. However, not a few of them would induce vomiting if swallowed. Deciphering her own chicken scratch to discern one bottle from the other, she found what she was looking for.

"I'm not quite sure how this works," she said. She shook the bottle and pantomimed drinking from it. She uncorked it. Obediently, the Mabari opened his jaws. She poured in a couple of drops.

In an instant, the dog was on its feet and puking what seemed like gallons of black blood onto the riverbank. She recoiled at the smell, not sure what part of the vile liquid was darkspawn blood and what part was digestive juices. It seemed to take an hour for the poor thing to empty its stomach, but when it was done, it looked like it felt much better. It looked up at her, the corners of its mouth turning up in a dog-smile, and panted happily.

"Your breath is seriously evil," she said.

The dog only kept smiling and panting, its tongue lolling from its mouth. It then got down and proceeded to roll around in its own vomit.

"Dear Maker…" she said, "All right, well if you're well enough to do that, you're well enough for me to leave you on your own." She turned and climbed back up the dusty path to the camp. The Mabari followed on her heels, smelling like all of the darkspawn in the Deep Roads had broken wind at once. To her relief, it scampered off to find its master as they got to the camp, and Teneira did the same. She found Duncan by the fire, and the rest of her compatriots still scrambling into their armor.

"You look clean… and remarkably not hung over," Alistair commented as she approached. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted. She was not sure she trusted him to be at her side, fighting darkspawn. Jory looked like he was in even worse shape, but Daveth looked like he was in top form.

"Elves don't get hangovers," she said, repeating an oft-cited myth. Elves did indeed get hangovers, but only at much greater quantities of liquor consumed. The flip side of that is that an elf's hangover would render him useless for a full day instead of just a morning.

"Your uncanny ability to hold your liquor does not excuse the irresponsibility of getting drunk the night before an important mission," Duncan said.

"If you weren't confident in our ability, why would you be sending us out in this condition?" Teneira asked.

Duncan had no answer for this, but commanded them to leave immediately. The four of them headed to the well-trodden path that led into the Korcari Wilds. Teneira had to keep herself from catching her breath at the beauty of it. It seemed that there had been some Tevinter buildings there, long ago, but the forest had reclaimed them, and now they stood in the swamp as though they had grown there, white stone peaking between curtains of green ivy. The swamp itself wasn't the stinking, festering hole that she had imagined, but just a series of greenish pools, still and reflecting the forests around them.

The stillness was interrupted by a series of guttural war cries. Teneira looked up, drawing her blade instinctively.

Up close, the darkspawn were even uglier than in her nightmares. They looked as though they may once have been humans, elves, and dwarves, but it was as though they had been mutilated beyond recognition. They smelled, too, like walking death, the smell of a corpse riddled with maggots. She had to concentrate on keeping the roll she'd eaten before leaving down as they bore down on them. She drew her blades and fought the way Daveth had taught her. Stick the left one in them, use it to direct their movement while you attack with the right blade. She took a few hits, mostly on her better-armored parts, but still stood as the darkspawn lay in pieces around them. She hadn't had time to be scared when they were living and bearing down upon her, but she felt herself shaking uncontrollably.

"Was that your first battle?" Alistair asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head. When she'd fought those guards and the lordlings at the Arl of Denerim's estate, she'd been angry, and grief-stricken, too much so to feel afraid. The darkspawn hadn't done anything to piss her off. They weren't people, they were beings of utter evil, whose only purpose was to skewer her on their gray iron blades.

"It's all right," Alistair said, "Sit down for a moment."

She obeyed and sat down on a rock, holding her head in her hands until her heart wandered back into its place and the blood stopped rushing in her ears.

"All right," she said, "Sorry about that, lads."

"I've seen men thrice your size soil their pants the first time they crossed swords with one of those," Alistair said, "Don't be embarrassed for too long."

"And don't soil your pants," Daveth added.


	10. Into the Fray

They made their way further into the wild as the sun rose high in the sky, its light filtered through the green canopy of the wilds. It took a little while for a Teneira to stop twitching, but eventually she managed to even out her breathing, and the fear in her heart was replaced with a heightened sense of being. It was as though she could see more clearly, her eyes accurately pick out whether each shadow was darkspawn-shaped.

"Wait," Alistair said as they made their way down an overgrown path by the side of a shallow lake, "Look up there."

Teneira tensed and looked where he was pointing. In the distance, in the crumbling ruin of a Tevinter fortress, a circle of the small ones – Genlocks, stood. She strained her eyes to make out their shape, and concluded that the lot of them were just standing around, bullshitting, much like the members of the guard would do during their breaks.

"Those two," Alistair said, indicating two who were not dressed in the crude-looking pig iron armor that the others wore, "They call them Emissaries. They're like mages, drawing their power from the Fade. They'll knock you on your arse as soon as they see you, but they can't take much of a hit. When we approach this group, I want Daveth and Ten to sneak around back and put knives in their backs while Jory and I rush in from the front."

"Sounds dangerous," Jory said, skeptically, "With only two of us drawing the fire."

"There'll be no fire," Teneira said, smiling. She reached into her satchel and her fingers found a leather flask that she'd bought in one of the villages along the road from Denerim. The neck of the bottle was shaped so that one could slide her blade, coating it in a thin layer, without damaging the bottle. She did so, and handed it to Jory, "It's a paralytic agent. Even if the first strike doesn't kill they'll be on the ground limp as a pile of manure before they know what hit them."

"Poison," Jory sighed disdainfully, "Hardly honorable is it."

"This isn't a duel, Jory," Daveth admonished him, the customary smile gone from his face, "Ain't nobody going to question your honor whatever tactics you use against these fiends. They're not people like us."

"She's not people like us," Jory said, gesturing to Teneira.

"Go fuck yourself," Teneira retorted, "This is going to be tedious life indeed if you can't treat me as an equal."

"Stop it, both of you," Alistair scolded.

"Fine," Ten sighed. She followed Daveth, creeping silently across the damp grass. To get behind the group of Darkspawn they would have to wade through the water, something she wasn't sure if she could do quietly, but she did her best. The water was still and slimy, and she slipped through it, hoping she wouldn't slip on something and go under. Drowning under her heavy armor in the fetid water of the Korcari Wilds was not how she'd imagined dying, and damned if she was going to let it happen. She kept her breaths even and steady as they grew closer to the darkspawn.

At that moment, Jory and Alistair began charging across the grass towards the assembled group, and grunts of confusion interrupted the apparent conversation that the demons had been having. The heavy ones picked up their greatswords, and Teneira could have sworn she saw fear in their beady black eyes. She and Daveth snuck up, quiet as could be, and on a silent signal, each plunged their dagger into the neck of a Genlock mage. The mages convulsed and spat black blood. Their deadweight pulled them from the blades, and Ten bore hers up, drawing her left handed knife with a sinister hiss of metal on metal.

The Darkspawn understood at that point that they were surrounded. Jory lopped off the head of a Hurlock, the large one, and Alistair pummeled one into submission with the hilt of his sword. Teneira, feeling brave at watching their bravery, threw herself into the fray with a shrill cry of war. Stick, slash, thrust parry. It seemed natural, this time, even with swamp slime trickling down the backs of her legs and blood both red and black spattered across her face and torso. Their armor was iron, not steel or leather like the Wardens wore, and while solid, was very heavy, and slowed their movements. Every time one of them lifted his arm to strike a blow, the weak spots were revealed. Armpits, necks, all places Teneira could strike at and withdraw, as fast as snake.

"You look like you enjoyed that entirely too much," Alistair observed after the carnage had ended, and Teneira was wiping her blades on the grass and returning them to their scabbards on her back. She grinned, a fairly horrific sight as her white teeth cut a slash through her bloodspattered face.

"I suppose there are worse lines of work," she replied.

"There's the spirit," Alistair replied, chuckling, and jogged ahead, reaching the ruin. It looked like it had stood there for many centuries before falling. Judging from the lack of wear on the places where the stone had crumbled, it had fallen fairly recently. Otherwise, the cracks would have been worn smooth by the wind and rain. Teneira stood with Daveth at the outside of the ruin, letting the more experience Grey Warden root through the fallen rocks.

"Not a very secure place to put important diplomatic documents," Teneira commented. The blood covering her face was beginning to dry and crack. Jory and Daveth were scratching, trying to get it off.

"I'll be sure to take it up with Grey Warden leadership just as soon as we've banished all the Darkspawn back to the Deep Roads, Fereldan is safe again, and pigs go flying across the sky like majestic eagles," Alistair replied irritably. He'd managed to yank most of a wooden chest out of the wreckage of the building, "Ten, you've got disturbingly small hands, do you think you could reach in there and wiggle something loose?"

She sighed and went to his aid. She quickly saw what he was talking about. The chest was caught on something behind the rock it was under. She gingerly reached in. It was mostly rubble. She drew it out by the handful until the chest came loose, and Alistair toppled back under its weight. He stood, redfaced, and set it right on the grass. He rattled the clasp, and tried to open it.

"I knew we'd gotten too lucky, this thing being within reach," Alistair said.

"Don't worry yourself," Daveth said, rubbing his hands together, "I can make short work of that."

"So can I," Jory said, rolling his eyes, "Take a blade to it and be done! I'm yearning to go back to camp and have a bath."

Daveth knelt in front of the chest, clearly wanting to show off, "Ten, do you have a hair pin or a nail file or something small and metal like women are supposed to carry?"

"That lock's too big for a hair pin," she said, "Here, try this." She handed him the paring knife she'd used to murder all those guards. She had kept it with her, figuring that the tiny blade had served her well, and might well save her life again one day. Daveth inserted it into the locking mechanism.

"This will be highly instructive," he said, "You just have to insert it in there, find the thingy, and wiggle the other thingy, and…. There we go!" The lock clicked open, "Next time, Ten will try."

"That was not instructive at all," Ten said, thoroughly perplexed. He handed her knife back and she slid it into its case on her belt.

Alistair lifted the lid of the chest, and it opened with a dusty groan. The smell that came from the inside was musty and swampy and about has foul as you'd imagine would issue from a chest that had lain moldering in the wilds for the better part of a century. He lit a match, peering into it.

"Well that was a fool's errand," he sighed, "It's empty."

"I didn't want to be the one to say it," Teneira said, "But don't you think it was kind of suspicious that, even though the building collapsed Maker knows how many years ago, the chest was easily accessible? Shouldn't it be buried somewhere in the large part of the ruin?"

"What do you mean?" Alistair asked.

"I mean, if you had a fortress, and you had a bunch of important documents in a chest, where in the fortress would you keep them?"

"Probably in a vault," Alistair said.

"Look at this ruin," Teneira said, "When it stood, it was probably a solid, if small fortress. You can see what remains of the front entrance there, over there was a tower. We've all seen Tevinter architecture. If it's anything like the other fortresses, the area where we found the chest here would have corresponded with a side entrance. Look, you can see the arch where the doorway was there." She pointed. She watched the men's faces as they tried to reconstruct the fortress in their heads.

"This chest has been moved since the building collapsed," Teneira said, "It would have been under a ton of rock, probably over there." She pointed to a pile of rubble thirty feet into the ruin, where the building had probably stood several stories at one time. She scrambled up the pile of rock. Sure enough, at the center of the pile was a hole in the rubble. _Hmmm… this is odd, _she thought. It was as though someone had just carved a tunnel straight down through the crumbled rock, removed the chest, and left the hole there, perfectly round, though it looked as though it ought to have fallen in on itself. The rocks were just standing there, defying all laws of physics, "Someone dug it out by… means I'm not familiar with."

"What are you talking about?" Alistair asked.

"Well if you'd come here and take a look…" she said. He climbed up the ruin, more slowly as his armor weighed him down.

"What in the fade is that…" he muttered, "This isn't any magic I've seen."

"Magic?" Jory shouted, overhearing them, "Did someone say magic?"

"Yes, Jory, someone said magic," Daveth sighed.

"I knew it! They always said there was a wild mage in these wilds!" the knight exclaimed, "And now she's come and…"

"Let me get this straight, Jory," Daveth said as Teneira and Alistair made their way back down the hill of rubble. "You're saying that a witch of the wild came to a Grey Warden ruin, bored a hole in them, removed a chest, took the documents, and then put it right where more rocks would fall on it?"

The four of them stood there, contemplating how utterly ridiculous the situation sounded.

"I think you'd be surprised at what witches of the wild are capable of," a woman's voice said. Teneira looked around for where it came from, the hair on the back of her neck bristling. Movement caught her eye all of a sudden, and she flinched to see a very large – no, _giant, _the damn thing came up to her waist – spider crawling towards them. Slowly, before their eyes, the spider changed shape, shedding its form for that of a tall, human woman.

"Say Daveth," Alistair said, not taking his eyes off the woman, but elbowing the rogue, "Say Daveth, what _exactly _was in that whiskey we drank last night?"

"The finest rye from the Southron Hills," Daveth replied, "Teneira, did you put some of those special mushrooms into the whiskey?"

"I did not," Teneira said. She narrowed her eyes at the woman. Her companions could apparently not break their gazes, mostly because of how impractically scantily she was clad, rags barely covering her ample bosom, leather breeches clinging to her legs like she'd been poured into them.

"You," the woman said, walking up to Teneira. The elf found herself very quickly closer to another woman's breasts than she'd been since she was a suckling infant. She looked up at her, meeting her green gaze, "You aren't a gawking fool like these men. I'll be talking to you from now on. What's your name?"

"Ten," she said, deciding against a snarky comment about what she should expect were she to expose herself like that.

"Ah, you've decided to be reasonable," the witch said, looking down at her with dark green eyes, "I am Morrigan."

"She's going to eat us," Jory murmured, "I swear to the Maker she is going to eat us."

"Well there's good news, you'll finally know what it's like to satisfy a woman," Daveth quipped.

"I'm married, you twit," Jory retorted.

"Are you quite done?" Morrigan asked, her voice taking on the tone of an irritated schoolmarm, "I imagine you're wondering what happened to the contents of that chest there."

"Observant, are you," Teneira commented, "Were you watching us with all eight of your beady little eyes from back there?"

Morrigan was silent, staring at her in judgment, "Yes. Well, the answer is that my mother took them. For safekeeping. If you'll follow me to our house, she would be happy to hand them over, I'm sure."

"I'm not going to any witch's house," Daveth said.

"No, you're not," Morrigan said, "You'd just be staring at my behind the whole way there. And I'm not fool enough to let a templar know where I live. Ten will be coming with. You will be waiting here for her."

Behind her back, Ten had slid her little paring knife out of its sheathe and was working on silently unstopping a bottle of the paralyzing agent. She followed Morrigan's back down a path, managing to coat the blade without the witch noticing. She replaced the knife where it waiting within easy reach should the woman decide to make any sudden moves… or turn back into a spider.

"I don't know how you do it," Morrigan said.

"Do what?" Teneira asked. They were moving at a good pace, over hills and rocks, through the swamps, into the very heart of the wilds.

"Live among men," Morrigan said, "Disgusting beasts, aren't they?"

"They're all right," Teneira said, "When they do their laundry. Do you live here? Without anyone?"

"Just me and dear old mum," Morrigan said.

"Must be lonely," Teneira said.

"I suppose it would be, if everyone I met wasn't insufferable," Morrigan said.

"You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you," Teneira commented, "You know, my dad always used to tell me, if you have a problem with everyone in the world, chances are, the problem is you and not everyone else in the world."

"I don't have a dad," Morrigan said, "I imagine if I had one he'd tell me something similar."

They walked along in silence. Teneira grew more relaxed as she became more confident that this woman – shapeshifting witch or not – was probably not going to all of a sudden turn into a spider and sink fangs into her neck. They came upon a ramshackle old place, looking like it had been cobbled together with dead wood, supported by living trees and a post or two from the Tevinter ruins. An aged crone was standing outside, ostensibly waiting for them.

"So this is what the Grey Wardens have come to," the old woman intoned, her voice low and nasal, "A mere child like this?"

"I'm not a child," Ten said, taking off her helmet.

"Not a child, one of the pointy-eared people of the Dales," the old woman said, "Forgive me, I intended no offense, some of you just look like small humans. What do they call you?"

"None taken," Teneira said. The hag was worn and stooped with age. However tall she had been, she had shrunk considerable, Ten imagined, and was barely taller than she.

"She's called Ten," Morrigan offered.

"And I am called Flemeth," the old woman said, "You're lucky we happened along when we did." She began rooting around somewhere in the tiny hut, "The winds and rains are not kind to parchment." She handed Ten sheaf of papers, yellowed with age, but sturdy enough. Ten tucked them under one arm.

"Much appreciated," she said.

Flemeth looked at her, "I'm going to be seeing you again, I think. No sense in conversing now, not with the dark ones surrounding us."

"They're not here yet, not the horde," Teneira said, though she really was not interested in standing around outside this shack and conversing with this addled crone or her haughty daughter.

"Soon," Flemeth said, "Now, off with you."

Ten looked at Morrigan quizzically, who made a "shoo!" gesture. Having been told twice, Teneira took off, back towards the towering hulk of the ruin. The sun was beginning to go down, and she did not relish the thought of being alone in the wilds in the dark. She clutched the treaties to her chest and ran, her boots squelching in the mud.

She arrived back at the ruin.

"Oh good, we were about to set off after you," Daveth said, "We thought you'd been eaten."

"Sorry to disappoint," she said. She was panting a bit, her cheeks red from running. She handed the papers to Alistair, who looked them over.

"Sure enough," he said, "Dwarves, elves, mages… all the people we'll have to call on once the horde sweeps over us like a tidal wave."

"You sound hopeful," Jory sighed.

"It's just…" Alistair said, "I'm concerned that Duncan sent us to find these. I'm afraid it means he thinks we'll need them. Soon."

"Let's hope the old man's wrong, then," Teneira said.

The four of them set off back to the south where camp was waiting for them. The sun was a dusky orange orb, sinking among the trees to the west.

"Something should have learned by now," Alistair said, "Is that the old man is very rarely wrong."


End file.
